Proving the Light
by Willowfly
Summary: Sequel to War of the Shadows. After a year of war, tragedy, and rebirth, old wounds are slow to heal. When horrible creatures begin stalking the shadows of New York, the fractured band of brothers must overcome their demons and learn to live again.
1. Chapter 1: Pieces

Proving the Light

BY Willowfly

_Hi there! It's me again, back with a sequel to my fic, War of the Shadows. If you haven't read it, I suggest you go back and take a peek or you will be utterly lost. At first, I wasn't planning on writing another part to the 37 chapters of sheer madness I now have dubbed "the Beast." I was so relived when it was finally finished, but alas! The monster plot bunny has an evil twin that's haunting my dreams as we speak, calling itself Proving the Light. Ugh. Well here we go again…_

_This chapter is meant to sharply contrast the final chapters of WOTS. It has notes of shadow played against bright moments of light. This fic will get darker as it progresses, so I warn you in advance._

_And I also want to remind you that I've only just discovered that fan fiction even existed three months ago, so reviews are much appreciated, especially if they contain constructive criticism._

_Well, enough from me… on with the show!_

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Chapter 1: Pieces

Of three things Michelangelo knew for certain: One. Don always was the sensible one. Everything he did, he did for a reason, and that reason was usually explained to him one thousand and one times throughout his lifetime in the tongue of a well-practiced scientist, the meaning of every other word escaping him as if his brother might as well be speaking Portuguese and not some twisted form of his native tongue. He was cool and calculated, and wore his heart on his sleeve. Two. Raph was absolutely insane. He jumped into battles without thinking, back talked to Master Splinter, and gave absolutely no reason for anything he did. Three. None of that seemed to pertain anymore.

Whatever had happened to his family over the past year had seemed to hatch two new forms of his brothers he couldn't even recognize. This new Raph was the most obvious imposter, a sorry excuse for his real brother, who would never sit around like a slob all day, watching bad tv and drinking so much Keystone until he couldn't even speak without slurring. Right now he was watching football at two in the afternoon, all form of practice forgotten to the Colts and the Raiders. He was still sober, for now, but the way he was yelling ferociously at the tv proved that he wouldn't be that way for long.

Mike was really starting to hate Casey for giving him the money for the pack of thirty Raph bought every week at the corner store. Listening to his brother howl something incoherent to the television, he shook his head. Thirty beers a week was far too much, but there was little he could do to stop him.

What was much more subtle than Raph's bold new _improvements _(or disprovements, if there was such a thing) was Don. He seemed to be getting harder and harder to figure out by the day, but Mikey knew there was definitely something strange going on.

He had to keep reminding himself that this _imposter_, this strange person wearing Don's skin like a costume, was indeed his brother Donatello, the sensible one. Everything he did for he did for a reason, but whatever that reason was, it totally escaped him.

Why he slept until three in the morning, why he kept his bedroom door locked at odd hours of the day, why he seemed to keep _himself_ locked behind imaginary walls the rest of the time was far beyond him. For so long, he had seemed to do so well. Even when he and Raph were battling their own demons, Donny never failed to stay the same. In the early days, it was what he had clinged to- Don, the reliable, never changing brother who was always there to listen and never there to judge. Don, the strongest person he had ever known. Don, the survivor.

In the beginning, he had been a miracle, somehow unchanged by the atrocities The War had left behind. But now, he was different. Now, he was changed. There had to be a reason, and Mike was almost too scared to find out what.

He traipsed over to the living room from his perch by the murky front porch window and plopped onto the couch next to Raph. Just as he expected, three empty beer cans sat in a neat little row on the armrest by his brother's elbow, a fourth clutched in his hand. He didn't even seem to notice- or chose not to notice- Mikey sitting there, staring at him with critical eyes. His expression already looked glazed today. Usually four beers was barely enough to give him a buzz.

"Raph?"

"Hm?" he grunted, eyes still locked onto the tv. "Damn it you sonofabitch! Somebody get that guy! GET HIM! Kill him before he… FUCK! Do any of you meatheads know how to play this fucking game!" he screamed, making threatening gestures at images on the tv. Someone had just scored, and it was obviously not the team Raph had been rooting for.

"Have you seen Don yet today?"

"Huh?"

"I said have you seen Don yet today."

"No."

"Oh." Mikey slouched back into the couch cushions a little deeper, pretending he was watching the game when really he couldn't get his eyes to focus. He still couldn't take his mind off Don.

He turned his eyes to Raph again as he knocked the neat little row of cans to the floor with a hollow clatter and reached for a fresh one.

"You think he's awake?"

"How the fuck should I know" Raphael glared, opening the can with a hiss and crack of metal. Mike was really beginning to hate that sound.

"Raph?"

"_What?"_ he asked sharply, his eyes turned to his little brother now as the commercials started rolling across the screen.

"I think something's wrong with Don."

That seemed to have caught his attention because Raph set his new beer untouched onto the coffee table and turned to face his brother. "Mike" he sighed "Don's goin' through some tough shit right now. I think we should just leave 'im alone, you know, until he wants us to help. It ain't like him ta shut himself away for too long. He'll only stay in there as long as he needs."

"I know" Mikey said, eyes suddenly turned down to the floor "but it's been six months, Raph… you know… since Sensei…"

Raph shot him a glare before Mikey could remind him. He didn't need any more reminders of the vast hollowness Master Splinter's absence left within their now dwindling family. Living life by itself was enough of a reminder without Mikey constantly saying something about it. But never fail, Mike always managed to slip something in every day just to grate on his nerves (or so it sometimes seemed.)

In truth, Raph knew he just did it because he missed him. It was just Mikey's way.

"I know what your sayin' without you reminding me every second of the day, Mike. Don's just as miserable as we are, he's just dealin' with it his own way."

Mike sighed deeply when the commercials ended and Raph peeled his gaze away, picked up his untouched beer and became engrossed with the game once again.

"I wish you wouldn't drink so much" he said beneath his breath, arms crossed tightly over his plastron, eyes staring blankly at the television screen, but fooling on one in his disinterest.

"If your gunna start this again, go somewhere else, 'cause I'm watchin' the game" he said gruffly, taking another long, spiteful gulp from the can. Mikey watched in disdain as his brother's throat worked the liquid down into his esophagus until he drained the can and tossed it with the others with that same hollow clatter onto the floor.

"But you told me you would cut back" he said softly, sounding more and more like a hurt child than a twenty year old. The sound made Raph hesitate before reaching for a new one. He cradled it in his hands for a minute before looking back at his baby brother.

"Mike…" he paused, turning over the can in his hands and shifting his gaze away "I know this is not helpin' nobody, but this is my way. Just let me do it my way."

For a moment, Mike just sat, stunned. He couldn't figure out exactly what Raph was trying to say, but he could understand the look in his brother's eyes. It was a look that told it all. This was his way of dealing with the pain, coping with the sense of earth-shattering loss that engulfed their lives every day.

"There's other ways…" he started, but Raph cut him off.

"Like what? _Talkin' _about it? Cryin' like a freakin' woman? Or maybe I should take Don's advice an' lock myself in my room for a couple of days."

"That's not what I…"

"That's exactly what you meant" he retorted with a growl "you want me ta deal with this some other way. Well this is _my _way, Mike. Let me deal with it _my_ way."

Now Mikey looked hurt. Raph had no idea if he knew he could pout so well, or it was just a natural born talent, but either way it made his stomach do flips inside him, pained with guilt.

"Mikey… don't look at me that way" he groaned, trying to pretend he was still interested in the game. But really, it was a shitty game and Mike was way to effective with the guilt-trip thing.

"Please, Raph. Don't have any more today. That's all I'm asking. I thought maybe we could train together this afternoon, you know, like old times" he said, then cracked an innocent smile.

Raph slouched back in the couch for a moment, trying not to laugh at how big of a pushover he really was. With a loud sigh, he put the unopened can back onto the coffee table and threw another look at his brother. It was really hard not to smile when Mike's face lit up like that.

"Ok, Mike" he said with a sigh "no more for today. Maybe we can spar a little, for old time's sake."

This time, he really did crack a smile when Mikey flew onto his feet and started bouncing across the living room.

"Yeah! I was thinking… maybe we could hike… into the woods… and I found this spot… when I was running… we could spar… and ask Donny ifhewantstocometoo!"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down bro, you're gunna give yourself a hernia. I can't understand a word your sayin'" Raph chuckled, pulling himself to his feet, but Mikey didn't stop moving. He was practically ping-ponging of the walls.

"You know how long it's been since we did ANYTHING together?" he beamed. Raph could tell he was trying to stand still, but his feet just kept moving underneath him and his mouth was running a mile a minute.

"Yeah, it's been a while" Raph said gruffly, but no matter how he tried, he couldn't stop himself from grinning. "Just calm down, bro, you're gunna wear yourself out before I get ta mop the floor with you."

"Can we ask Don?" he said quickly, his sentence running together like one long syllable.

"Uh, Don? Yeah you can ask him, but I don't think he'll want to come."

At that moment, Mikey looked like he'd been deflated.

"Why not?" he said with a frown. He already knew the answer, but it was better to pretend he didn't.

"I don't know, Mikey, Don's just not been himself lately."

A worried line was starting to crease down the middle of his little brother's forehead, and for a moment, it looked like he was making the best impression of Leo he'd ever seen.

"Why don't you ask him anyway" Raph said softly, resting a reassuring hand on his baby brother's shoulder. He'd recently stopped bouncing and looked as if his feet were rooted to the floor.

"Maybe you should" Mike said, his frown deepening.

Raph tried to throw him one of those smiles that could take all the pain away, but he knew he had never been too good at it. Mikey still looked as miserable as ever. "Really Mike" he said "I'm sure Don would love it if ya just asked. Even if he doesn't want to, it's better than just not askin' him. You wanted to know what he was up to anyway."

"Yeah" Mike said, nodding his head with returned confidence "you're right. Maybe he'll want to come, though. I mean, I found a _really_ good spot."

The light was back in his eyes as he strode off to the farmhouse's old, rickety stairs. Raph could hear each step creak in protest under his little brother's footsteps.

"Don't go anywhere" he grinned, peeking at him over the banister.

"Wasn't plannin' on it" Raph grinned back, then turned to plop back down on the couch. For a moment, he eyed the unopened beer staring back at him from the coffee table.

"And Raph?" Mikey yelled from someplace upstairs, making him flinch.

"What!" he yelled back as loud as he could manage.

"Don't you _dare _touch that beer."

Raph could hear the grin in his little brother's voice. "Okay, okay" he grumped with feigned contempt.

While he waited, he snapped off the tv and absorbed the blanketing quiet of the ancient farmhouse. The sunlight was pouring in from the windows, sending little motes of dust sparkling in the air, and for the first time in his life, he enjoyed the quiet.

Sure, the lights and crime of the city still beckoned him at night. Sure, he missed the damp, winding maze of the sewers, the unbridled freedom of a sprint across the rooftops. But at this very moment, he was content, not because of the quiet, not because of the light, but because for the first time in a long time, it felt like their lives had slowly begun to piece together.

He could only hope that Donny felt it too.


	2. Chapter 2: Nightmares and Memory

Chapter 2: Nightmares and Memory

He had that dream again, that nightmare where he'd always want to wake up screaming, but couldn't. He wouldn't allow himself. He always bit his tongue before it could erupt and let them know.

And they didn't know, they couldn't know.

He hadn't had the heart to tell them, to see their faces sucked free of the fragile joy that had finally returned, the light that clinged to darkened features like reflections of a distant past long forgotten.

How could he tell them that every time he closed his eyes, he was there again, flashing through memories that refused to rest, refused to die like two of his family had. Like Leo had. Like his father had that winter night, cold upon the fallen snow.

No, these would not lie buried beneath the ground of his dark imagination because every time he buried them, every time he dug their grave, they would never stay dead for long. Every time he closed his eyes, they would resurface like demons from the underworld to haunt him once again. To make him remember, to never forget.

Sometimes if felt like drowning, like his very breath was being stolen from his lungs beneath the crushing weight of that impenetrable stone, the weight that had sealed his fate, his near demise, one year ago. What had happened between then and now flooded by in a blur of twisting current, his life swept away by the tides.

And every time he heard the weapon drop, saw the blood, the bodiless limb. Every time he remembered the winding scarlet river that had snaked and drown his brother out, pooling onto the floor below, he froze. He froze like a child, like a weakling, like the sick, frail creature he had become. No matter how loud he screamed at himself to move, to notice the shadow and leap away, avoid his fate, to live, he couldn't. He couldn't peel his eyes away because he was weak.

He was so, so weak.

When the darkness fell like a sudden snap of night, he would wake to Michelangelo's screams inside his head, begging him to live, begging him to speak, to move, to say anything but silence and pain.

The warmth of his blood trickling from underneath, the crack and pop of bone beneath the stone, it all rang within him every night, never fail. Every. Single. Night.

How was he to tell his brothers that a night of sleep was more tiring than a day of wakefulness?

He didn't, he couldn't.

So now he lay awake, seeped in sweat, muscles trembling for fear of his fate sealed so long ago, every night hoping that somehow it would change, that just once he would move from beneath that shadow and he would wake up different somehow.

But it never happened. It was a fool's dream and Donatello knew it.

He shut his eyes tight in that darkened room, shades drawn and door locked to the world outside, knowing only the world within. His chest heaved with every breath as he struggled to control it, to remind himself that the walls weren't crushing down on him, that the blankets weren't trying to smother him, that they weren't the reason for his pain.

It was an irrational fear born of rationality. How could he ever forget? His dreams reminded him every night, replaying it over and over in his head as if he _would_ forget. But even if he tried, his scars would remind him in the waking hours, those ugly, twisted blackened things that snaked through him like sickly bolts of lightning, piecing him together like a puzzle. Torn.

But even harder to forget was the pain. He wouldn't, couldn't admit to even himself that it had returned, even when it bolted through him with sudden electricity so complete his breath would hitch and his heart would race and it took all his strength not to collapse.

And that was why he was here, abandoning the world, his brothers, his friends. He just couldn't let them know what was happening to him, that he was slowly falling apart. He couldn't even admit to himself that it was getting worse not better, and that every time it hit, he yearned for those pills like he was dying of thirst.

But the pills ran out a long time ago. Their empty bottle still sat on the weathered dresser across the room, staring at him through the half-light, mocking him.

It was the pills that had chased the nightmares away at first, all those months ago when the fear of dying consumed his thoughts, making his mind clouded to anything but living, but avoiding the pain. Now his nights were no longer consumed by simple survival, by dreamless medicated sleep. Now that they were gone and he would live, he had nothing left but dreams.

Chasing all nightmare and memory from his brain, he sat up and blinked at the warm streams of light escaping from behind the window shades, yellow beams piercing through the floor in search of better places than here, places where the light belonged.

Darkness only dwelled around him now, not because it was forced upon him, but because he had chosen it to be so. No one had forced him to take the third room. Raph or Mikey would have gladly slept alone. But when he asked, neither of them objected, because they knew he was weak. They never argued with him any more.

Raph and Mike shared a room down the hall, that same room the three of them shared when they first had come. The second room was saved for April and Casey's frequent visits. Don now slept were his master had weathered those nights, hiding from the watching eyes of Bishop, planning their raid- the mission that had almost cost them their lives. All but one had survived.

From the look of the light streaming in, day had broken and come many hours ago, though he no longer seemed to mind. Mike and Raph would occupy themselves for the day- pretending he didn't even exist- just trying to make it fit again, to establish some type of normalcy among the wreckage. And Don knew he wasn't part of that equation. Aside from Raph's missing arm, nothing would remind them more than who he had become. Those dark scars haunted them as much as they haunted himself. He could see them staring when he passed by, the looks of sorrow dancing behind their eyes. The limp that never faded, that awful shuffle that lagged behind every deliberate step followed him like a curse, like the constant haunting whisper of ghosts.

Don hated himself for it, for reminding them so well. That's why he was here, that's why he locked the door, pulled the shades, and slept the days away.

He threw back the blankets and dangled his feet over the side of the bed, contemplating whether getting up was even worth his trouble. The day was nearly gone. All harm was already done, so it wouldn't matter if he stayed there till morning come. Maybe then he would feel like standing, like walking, like reminding himself. Maybe then he would make his way down the stairs and greet his brothers with a smile, try to eat something for a change, to act cheery and alive.

But the façade had gotten tiring. He'd never felt more dead.

Despite the pit in his stomach and the storm cloud brooding in his head, he pulled himself to his feet and shuffled to the old wooden dresser. It was Casey's grandmother's, a permanent fixture of the farmhouse even in its disuse. The faded white paint was peeled and worn, revealing grey rotting wood beneath. The old vanity mirror was fogged as if by some supernatural mist, clouding out the world, distorting his reflection.

He pressed his palms against its warped and peeling surface and leaned into his smoky reflection in the mirror. In the cool dim of the room, he had to lean in close to see the unmistakable darkness underneath his eyes, the look of wear and lack sleep. But all he did was sleep and dream, wake within a cold sweat nightmare, then sleep away the afternoon. But sleep had lost its appeal long ago, becoming more like an exercise to ignore the pain. Without the pills, sleep was the next best remedy, and in his mind, the nightmares were worth it.

He could see his cheek bones now, gaunt reminders of how settling his weakness had become. There had been a time when Mikey would leave piles of food every where he went, waiting for him every time he woke. But after a while, his brother's eager glances were not enough to effectively force-feed him, so he finally had given up, letting him starve himself if he wanted to. It broke his baby brother's heart, he knew, but food, like sleep, had lost its appeal a long time ago. Now he only ate when he could bare the gnawing hunger no more, choosing something simple to take up to his room and eat slowly as if entranced.

For a while, Don just peered into the glass, locked in a stare with someone he could no longer recognize, someone he hated for what he was doing to his brothers, for being selfish, for not being able to fight, to protect them, to be there for them when they were in trouble. It had always been his wish to set down his bo and never pick it up again. But now he supposed that wish was more complicated than he had first imagined. He supposed that in coming true, it entailed his brothers would never face danger ever again, and that simply was impossible. He never wanted it to be this way. He never would have wished it upon himself if he had only known.

As he tied on his mask, Don gave his reflection a soft chuckle. _You only learn to miss something once it's gone, _he thought to himself. _It's only natural to want something you can never have._

Never in his life had that saying held more truth.

A light tap on the door suddenly made him jump and push away from the mirror.

"Come in" he chimed, his voice sounding much happier than it should. He mentally cursed it for betraying him.

The door handle jiggled.

"I can't" came Mikey's voice from the other side. "It's locked."

"One second" Don called, shuffling over to the door and twisting free the lock. Slowly, the door opened, letting the musty sunlight of mid afternoon pour in from the hallway. For a moment, they both froze, studying the looks held within each other's eyes.

"Uh… can I come in?"

Don glanced around and smiled sheepishly, stepping back enough to let Mike swing the door open the rest of the way and let himself in. Slowly, he made his way to the edge of his bed and sat down, watching his little brother close the door behind him.

"It's dark in here" said Mike, pulling away from the door. Something about the way he stood told Don he was uncomfortable.

"Yeah. I like it" Don said, throwing out his best half-hearted smile. By the way Mikey's expression changed, he must have been good at it. His little brother unfolded his arms and traipsed over to plop on the bed beside him.

There was a long pause before either of them spoke.

"So how ya doing Don?"

"I've been better" he said quietly, eyes drawn down to the floor.

"Oh."

Don flinched. He hated that sound marring his baby brother's voice. It was like all the happiness had been sapped out of it, leaving it flat. Quickly, Don turned his eyes upward and threw him another smile.

"But it's a nice day, huh? I can't believe I slept away the afternoon. Too bad I missed breakfast with you guys. Maybe I'll wake up early enough tomorrow."

"It's ok, Don, don't worry about it. You need the rest" he said slowly, quietly, but still he was smiling. "Raph's been sleeping in too, and I've been running a few miles every morning."

"That's cool" Don said, slowly losing his battle with his feigned smile. "How many miles?"

"I dunno. I think maybe ten. I'm out there most of the morning 'cause I still wake up at six and Raph doesn't get up till at least noon. I just can't stay asleep. Guess I'm too used to morning practice."

With that, he gave a weak smile and Don lifted his eyes just enough to return it.

"That's kinda why I'm bothering you" he said, never losing that gentle smile "Raph and I were going to go spar in this meadow I found when I was running this morning. It's a great spot. Could make for some interesting practice."

Don nodded, praying he wasn't being asked what he thought Mike was asking him.

"So, before we left I wanted to ask you if you wanted to tag along."

His expression was hopeful, and Don hated himself for turning him down, but he couldn't. He just couldn't walk out of there and pretend everything was normal again, because it wasn't. As much as he wished he could, there was no denying what had become of him.

"I'm sorry, Mikey, I can't" he sighed, refusing to bring his gaze to see the hurt expression hidden behind his baby brother's eyes. "But maybe some other time, ok?" he said, picking himself up again, trying to restore his hope. Just because he had no hope didn't mean Mikey wasn't allowed to have any.

"That's ok, Don. I was kinda expecting that."

"I'm so sorry" he murmured again.

Mikey rested a reassuring hand on his brother's shell and beamed into his eyes. He could feel how thin, how drained, how weak he was, but he refused to let it take him too. He would hold his smile until his brother was strong again, until he could see the light.

"Donny" he cooed "don't beat yourself up. You know we love ya right? I don't care if you don't want to spar. Next time's good with me." He leaned forward to catch Don's eyes. "Ok bro?"

"Ok" Don said quietly, this time not even trying the smile.

"Just try and eat something when we're gone. April said she'll be over today and you don't want to pass out again. That's really scary, especially for her."

"I'll try."

"See you later, ok?"

Slowly, Don nodded. "Ok."

As Mike stood and walked to the door, Don laid back in bed and covered his eyes with his hands, waited for the sound of the door closing behind him.

And in the quiet, he tried his hardest not to cry, not to be weak, not to be broken. But he was, and he did until he could no more.

That was why he couldn't. That was why he won't.


	3. Chapter 3: Twilight Roads

_Sorry I took so long to update, but here's a really, really long one (longest chapter I've ever written, actually). It's extra juicy so I hope it makes up for the wait. Enjoy!_

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Chapter 3: Twilight Roads

Winding down the country roads, flecked by roadside weathered wheat fields ready for the harvest, the mid afternoon sun shone brightly on the horizon, flashing gold and brown and greens of fields stretching out into the sky and darkened trees. Shadows cast along the roadway by elm and oak and maple reached out to meet the small Toyota, the only traveler that passed them by.

April sighed at the beauty of it, the indescribable purity of nature that surrounded her, touched her until there was no way she could feel the stress winding like coils within her, the anguish that haunts her dreams and waking moments every time she thought of them.

This place was supposed to be peaceful, a place to enjoy, heal, live. But no. Casey's old farmhouse had become a refuge for the broken, the damaged, the weak.

Every time she thought of them, she cringed and wept within, burst with joy and pride, laughed and pleaded with the gods because of everything they brought to her, this damaged little family, her boys.

Slowly they had come to peace, settled in as the damage seemed to mend. Raph and Mikey seemed to be getting along fine, even though the little things would still remind her again of what they had to bear. The way Raph sat and moped for hours, shut himself away at every opportunity, and seemed to be wrapped up within himself at odd moments of the day. But Mikey was always there to pull him away, to bring him back to the land of the living any way he could. And he always returned, pretending not to smile at his little brother's antics, not to crack his tough exterior and let the contents fall into view.

Mike himself showed his wounds. The way the light suddenly sapped out of his eyes when something small reminded him of his father or of Leo. Whenever it seemed to slip into a conversation, he would curl into himself for a second, for only a moment, and then come back again.

It was hard for her to see it, the sadness that lay deep within the brothers that had once been so carefree. But that was their lives- full of things that no person should be made to bear- and yet, they overcame. Every time.

The days and months had come and gone, and April had stood beside them, six months since that day, so long behind in memory it seemed like ages. Six months, and finally there seemed to be a restored sense of normalcy. Six months until the return of Mikey's boundless energy, the carefree smile she missed so well. Six months until the pain ebbed away from Raphael's eyes enough to bare meeting them again.

She knew they would always carry it with them, but it was a relief to journey onward, reach out to new horizons, and embrace life for what it was- broken, fractured, yet so amazingly beautiful.

_Life is poetry _she thought, both hands on the steering wheel, as she gazed along the sun-soaked fields, passing by slowly in an endless blur of color. It all was poetry- bitter sweet and heart-wrenchingly beautiful, painful enough to make your insides weep in sorrow, but blissful all the while.

That was her life ever since she met her boys. Every second that she breathed, it was bliss.

But at that moment, it hit her like a tidal wave, crashing down into that familiar sorrow, that bittersweet melody that tugged at heartstrings until tears stung at her eyes.

She thought of Donatello.

To have such a beautiful soul boxed within that darkened place, it was almost too much to bear. Four months ago, Casey and she had moved away, back to their lives beneath the lights of the city. The shop had to reopen and Casey was looking for work, so she left them to their new lives, set upon that same country road, to meet the city lights again.

But still, she returned, every week, to check on Donatello.

His heart was broken, she knew- Don, so fragile and kind, so breakable, had finally broken. He seemed to have caved in upon himself in since the day his father died. She had seen it then, the way he held his head, spoke little, ate less. There was a hollowness to his voice, in his eyes. Now, a ghastly echo that she had wished and willed to subside, but never faded.

They had all carried it with them for months after his death, the quiet months they had been left alone to wallow and remember as winter melted into spring. But summer days had dawned and went, and all but one still remained untouched.

The call of crisp fall days was edging on the air, though Don had never left those cold, winter months behind.

The gravel crunched under tire as she pulled off the little road and onto the driveway, winding up through the woods to a hilltop drenched in sun. The little rotting farmhouse looked quaint despite its overgrown gardens and unmowed yards. The barn and porch diminished to a crumbling grey of rotting wood, the house itself to peeling white and scars of rot and mossy roof tiles. But in the shade of ancient apple trees, the shabbiness looked almost regal.

She pulled the little car into the parking area and idled there for a moment, breathing in the silence until she killed the engine and opened the door. She didn't bother to take her keys out and the ringing sound chimed repetitively to remind her so.

She snatched up the paper grocery bag from the front seat, slammed the door behind her and listened to the songs of meadowlarks and crickets chirping in the grass.

"Oh, I'm so gunna kick your ass" a voice belonging to none other than Raphael growled from within. Two pairs of soft padding footsteps near approached the rickety screen door.

"Only if you can catch me first!" chimed Michelangelo as he burst through the door, letting it slam behind him just inches from his brother's face. He bounded off the rotting porch floorboards and hit the ground running as Raph flung the door open hard enough to swing back and hit the crumbling wall behind it.

"Hey, Ape" Mikey said with a smile, running backwards but still managing to leave Raph to catch up from far behind.

"Oh, hey" April beamed, balancing the grocery bag on one hip and giggling at the sight. Mikey was obviously ecstatic about something, and Raph just looked fumed. "What are you guys up to?"

"Training run" Mike laughed, looking radiant in the sun. His eyes shone even bluer in the light, soaking in the sky above. There was laughter in them too, something April relished like a precious gem. "Be back in a while. Me an' Raphie are gunna be gone till dark."

"Hey, Ape" Raph grunted as he passed, looking absolutely flustered at his energetic little brother. That nickname always did get on his nerves. "Talk ta Donny for me if ya could. He's gotta at least do _somethin' _with his life today."

"That's what I'm here for" she said cheerfully, making her way up the single crumbling brick step onto the rickety porch.

"Thanks. See ya" he shouted over his shoulder as he turned and ran. Mikey was already bouncing in the shade of elm trees on the edge of the woods far ahead.

"Okay. Bye" she beamed, waving before she opened the screen door with an audible creak. But before she turned and left, she hung by the door for just a second longer, smiling to herself as the two brothers enjoyed their day together in the sun. Michelangelo bounded into the brush with the sound of rustling leaves and cracking twigs underfoot, voice echoing through the treetops.

"Come on, Raph. You're such a slug" he called as his brother disappeared into the undergrowth not far behind him.

"I'll show you slug" he growled back in mock anger, voice ringing out into the heavy quiet of the forest, carrying across the yard. And then, they were gone and all that was left was silence.

April smiled at the feeling laughter brought inside her, the joy to see them happy again. She closed the screen door softly, though it still groaned and creaked on metal hinges and rusted springs. She left the front door open to let in the light and air.

Within the air was musty, damp and rotting floorboards creaked underfoot. It was dark, but pleasantly so, cool light filtering in through clouded dusty windows behind ancient stitched lace curtains. She set the paper bag beside the door and wandered off into it, eager to breathe the sheer whimsy of it in.

She wound around the corner and through the tiny living room where the empty beer cans lay, an unopened one still perspiring on the coffee table. Slowly she walked toward it, stepping around the refuse, and took the cool, damp can in her hands. She took it across the hall into the kitchen and set the can down in the refrigerator next to a wrapped bologna sandwich and a bowl of mac and cheese. Don's lunch, no doubt. It would probably stay untouched.

She opened the cupboard around the sink, shook out a garbage bag, and started to pick up that week's layer of garbage around the downstairs. Don knew she was there, she could hear his footsteps creaking the floorboards from above. But she wouldn't come to him. She wouldn't let him shut himself away. If he wanted to talk, he had to come to her, and she would wait as long as it would take until he was ready.

* * *

Don watched silently by the window when he heard her car pull in. The playful laughter of his little brother carrying up to him through rotting floorboards as the little red Toyota slowly made its way across the rough stone driveway.

He had almost forgotten it was Saturday.

It was a mixture of joy and despair every time she came, and every time he couldn't decide if he should to come to her or run the other way.

But always she drew him near to her, a closeness that he craved in so many ways. To talk, to see her beauty, those green eyes filled with unshed tears- tears for him, tears he cursed himself for putting there, marring the purity of her gaze. To have an ear to listen, someone he was unashamed to bear his weaknesses to, shed his skin and bring his insides to the light, and expose all the ugliness, all the pain, all the sorrow he hid away.

It was like the great release every week she came. But yet- it caused him so much anguish, so much pain.

Because in the recent months, she had become like a drug. He craved her, yearned for her night and day, pined alone in his room for days when she left him, starved himself from sheer yearning for her presence. Every time she came it was like a rush of adrenaline seeping into him, making his breath quicken and his palms sweat, his heart pound loudly in his chest.

She was his addiction, his obsession. Every night she haunted his dreams, every day she plagued his imagination with impossible thoughts, ridiculous thoughts.

He hated himself for what his imagination did to her.

Because it made her his.

The April of his imagination surrendered herself to only him, and not some vigilante buffoon that barely knew how to walk without breaking something.

Before, Casey had always made him nervous with his clumsiness, his explosive personality, even the way he talked so loud it made him cringe. But now, Don hated him with the blackest venom he had ever known.

Until then, he never knew himself as capable of such hate. But he was, because it was April.

At first he brushed it off, ignored it as an unhealthy release of intellectual tension. He hadn't put his mind to any good use in months. In the pain and gravity of his sinking depression, he hadn't had the heart to do much of anything but think of her. It was simply compensation, an exercise for his brain.

Ever since he'd met her all those years ago, he'd thought of her in the innocent little ways of a young crush. But he had been able to get around it then.

Now, every time he tried, he'd only stumble and fall. The weight of it was getting hard to bear. It was only a matter of time until it all collapsed upon itself, leaving him with nothing. Because he couldn't have her. He could never have her. It was an impossibility, a childish dream blown to ridiculous proportions.

But every time he told himself that, something inside him always told him no. _This was real. This was love._

_Oh god. He was in love with April._

And he hated himself for it.

When he saw that flash of red hair, her gorgeous smile on cherry ripe lips beaming from her car, his heart fluttered a few beats and he cursed aloud at himself for letting it. When he saw his brothers leaving, disappearing from sight into those darkened woods, he slammed the curtain back onto the window, snapping out the sunlight, engulfing the room in shadow once again.

He turned and sat heavily on his bed, listening to the groan of ancient springs protest, and hung his head in his hands. He palmed his face and took in a sharp inhale, trying to shake the thoughts away, banish his demons, silence it all.

His brothers were gone, and Leatherhead had disappeared two months ago. He was home alone. Home alone _with April._ There would be no one there to stop him from running down those stairs and just kissing her, kissing her long and hard and never letting go. In his mind, she wouldn't pull away in disgust. She would surrender to him.

But that was sheer idiocy.

He wanted to weep in frustration, just cry like a baby and let it all flow out of him like poison. The weight of it all just pressed on his brain until he wanted to explode and let it smear all over the walls.

He had so much on his mind already, so much piled on his shoulders. His brother had died, the one brother he always felt he could talk to, the brother he related to the most. His father had died, the only parent he had ever known, his only voice of guidance. His injuries, his scars, his pain, his life was changed forever.

And now this.

It was disgusting. He _felt_ disgusting wallowing in self-pity like some mindless idiot, sleeping the days away like his precious life meant nothing. His brother and his father had given their own lives for him to live his, and it was physically sickening how he threw their sacrifice away.

Sometimes he threw up alone at night just because it was so bad, that guilty twist in his stomach every time he remembered, every time he dreamed of them.

But his brothers didn't know a bit of it, not a single fragment or shard. He never let an ounce of it escape the confines of his mind because somehow, deep down, he feared that all this despair was like a disease, and if even a single speck escaped to them, they would be infected and lost to him forever.

It was his own sickness to suffer through in silence, locked within his darkened room, hidden away from it all.

But somehow, April was immune. She could sit and listen to his darkest confessions for hours and never flinch, never say a word. When she did speak, she said all the right things to make him feel like he wasn't diseased, wasn't broken, wasn't dying of sadness.

He was depressed. Together they had deduced that much, and what they had known about depression was enough to diagnose and treat the symptoms as best they could. But depression was not a rational disease, a sickness not curable by antibiotics or injection, by radiation or chemotherapy. It was a cancer of the heart, of the mind, and it listened to no one.

But April was his remedy, a treatment for the symptoms if not a cure. She _was _his drug, his savior, his light in the darkness. And that was why he was coming down those rickety rotting stairs now, one at a time, marching to both his liberation and his demise.

She was his cure and his death, his beginning and his end, all his strengths and weaknesses rolled into one. But the goodness always overruled the bad. The light always prevailed over the dark.

"April?"

And there she was, smiling over a full black trash bag, the entire living room spotless and pristine, a hint of sly self-satisfaction upon her lovely lips. That crooked, wryly smile was enough to make him weak at the knees. Half way down the stairs, he had to clutch onto the railing.

He shut his eyes, ready to fall, but there she was beside him, warm hands against his plastron, on his shoulder, picking him up again.

"Donny! You almost fell" she gasped, her breath warm and sweet against the nape of his neck. He opened his eyes and found her close, breathed her in.

"Yeah" he sighed, standing more solidly on two feet as he let go of the railing "I'm okay now."

"What happened?" she said firmly as she released her touch to plant her hands firmly on her hips. The corner of her lips curled down slightly as her eyes picked him apart.

It wasn't a question, it was a demand.

"It was nothing!" Don whined defensively, brushing her off and leaving her still standing down the stairs. When he made it to the bottom, he turned the corner and walked into the kitchen.

"Don!" she called from her place on the stairs her voice was almost a snap. He could hear her footsteps coming down after a few moments of no response. Her voice had lost its edge by the time she emerged in the doorway. "Did you almost pass out again?"

By then, Don had made his way to the refrigerator and peeked up at her over the opened door. The refrigerator light was out, but it was a miracle it was running anyway. Without a word, he turned his glance away and took the wrapped sandwich off the shelf.

For a minute, he just looked at it, turning it over in his hands as he closed the door with his foot behind him. There was a note taped to one side of it that read 'FOR DON. RAPH DON'T TOUCH' in Mikey's big, loopy handwriting. Scribbles of ridiculous piggy faces complete with big ugly snouts and crossed eyes proved his theory.

The sheer stupidity of it was enough to make him to crack a crooked smile.

"You didn't answer me, Donatello" April pouted, that same motherly snap returning to her voice.

"I know" he mouthed wordlessly, eyes still directed to the sandwich he was unwrapping.

April still wasn't satisfied.

"I'm eating now, aren't I" he said defensively, shaking the plastic wrap from his hand that insisted on clinging to it and not letting go. He had to put his sandwich back onto its plate and tear it off with the other hand to get it to finally go in the garbage.

"I know, but when was the last time? You almost fell down an entire flight of stairs."

"About this time yesterday" he shrugged, taking a small bite without bothering to sit. He hated that he couldn't lie to her, mostly because he didn't want to lie to her. He knew lying would be easier, and it wouldn't etch such hard lines into her perfect porcelain features.

"That's awful Don. Why are you doing this to yourself?"

But Don didn't have an answer. He just looked back at her, took her in and chewed slowly. Swallowing down the mouthful almost hurt.

Softly she sighed and let her arms drop to her sides. She walked slowly over to her friend and laid her hand gently on his shoulder. His soft grey eyes followed her every move.

"Let's go outside" she sighed. She had obviously given up on asking any further questions. "It's too nice of a day to waste away inside."

She smiled warmly as he followed her out the screen door onto the porch. Her natural grace flowed like water over to the old porch swing.

"Come sit with me, Donny" she beamed, not expecting anything from him, no longer pressing. She just wanted him to sit beside her and just be.

So together they sat in the cool, mossy shade of the crooked porch, swaying slightly in the breeze. Don hand no idea how long they just sat there in silence, but it had to be a long while because he had finished his sandwich by the time he finally got the nerve to speak.

"So how's the shop?"

"Slow. The economy isn't good, so business isn't what it used to be. No one has extra money to spend anymore."

Don nodded his response, never looking up from the empty plate cradled in his lap as the swing swayed slightly in the warm breeze.

"How's Casey?" He couldn't keep the biting edge from his voice when he spoke his name. He prayed that April hadn't noticed.

"Oh, he's fine. He's been busy looking for work all over the city. He didn't find anything for a while, but I think he's finally made up his mind."

"I didn't think it would be possible" Don half joked, still gazing down at the empty plate.

April laughed quietly. "I know. Raph will never believe that he's thinking of joining the police academy."

That time Don's eyes shot up. "Really?"

"Yeah" she laughed, sitting back against the swing's seat and rocking it slowly with her heel.

"And you don't like that idea?"

"No. Not at all. All he's doing is the same dangerous things he used to do, only now he has a license and a reason for it. It scares me half to death."

"Yeah. Casey with a gun. Now that's a scary notion. He does enough damage with a baseball bat. I'd hate to see what he could do with a firearm."

The corner of April's lips dipped into a frown at that remark. "You know, he's matured a lot since you guys went missing. He isn't the same guy he was three years ago."

Don shrugged and brought his eyes back down to the plate, absentmindedly running a finger around its edge. "Maybe it will be good for him. Maybe he won't go out at night so much."

"He really doesn't do that anymore" April said, stubbornly shaking her head. "Ever since you guys disappeared… since Raph disappeared… he hasn't had the heart to go out at night. I think he just didn't want to be alone."

He nodded and the two were silent for a while. Don still running a finger over the rim of his plate over and over again until April's hand met his. She held it fast and gave it a slight reassuring squeeze. When he got the courage to look up, his stormy grey eyes met her green ones.

He smiled a sad little smile as they sat, slowly rocking in the breeze. The sensation was almost hypnotic. He closed his eyes and let the moment sweep him away.

"April…" he whispered, still clutching her warm little hand "it's gotten worse."

She said nothing, only waited in the silence until he found his words.

"The pain… I don't know how much longer I can take it… It's getting harder to hide."

"Then don't hide it." Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. Don opened his eyes to see her expression, the light playing with the shadows across her porcelain skin.

He saw the intensity lingering behind her eyes, that light that flickered there, the unwavering belief she still had in him.

"I…" he hesitated, swallowed, breathed "…can't."

"Oh, Don. When are you going to stop killing yourself like this? Don't you think they would want to know? They only want to help you."

"I know." He nearly choked on his words, but spoke through a long exhale. "I just… don't want to hold them back."

At this, April understood. She gave his hand another reassuring squeeze and tore her gaze away. Leaning against the back of the swing, her heart felt like it was splitting in two. Next to her, Don palmed his face with his other hand and inhaled deeply, fighting back against the wall of sorrow that was sure to crush him in.

"There's just so much…" he whispered into the air, leaning his head back as if the weight was too much to bear. "The claustrophobic episodes scare me half to death. Sometimes I can't even remember how to breathe. And then… there's the nightmares."

April looked over to him, concern etched deep within in every feature. "You didn't tell me about the nightmares, Donny."

"I know. I should have said something about them sooner, but I never expected they would get this bad." He closed his eyes tightly as if in pain. "I can barely sleep without those images playing through my mind."

"What images, Don?" she asked softly.

"Memories, really" he shrugged.

Beside him, April nodded. She new exactly what memories he meant. She had heard enough of the story to know that no one could walk away from such atrocities unscarred.

Don breathed deeply and studied her eyes, smiled sadly when their gazes connected, her hand still locked in his.

"It's stupid, really… I mean… Mike and Raph went through the same thing. I shouldn't bother me so much."

His heart fluttered when her hand shot up and lovingly caressed his cheek, a moment between friends rather than lovers, but his heart skipped a beat all the while. He blinked slowly as her warm touch lingered there for only a second, then disappeared again.

"But it's different, Donny. _You're _different."

Don didn't respond. He just stared off into the distance, knowing what she implied was that he was weak. He was soft. He was more breakable than his brothers.

It was one of the many reasons he hated himself.

"I brought you some things" she smiled, her eyes flickering with excitement for a moment. "Wait here."

He watched her as she disappeared behind the old screen door and returned with that same pure smile carrying a brown paper bag. She sat again beside him and unrolled its top, pulling out two Styrofoam containers.

"Just a little something to cheer you up" she beamed, handing him a little white cup.

When he opened the lid, he smiled up to her. "Coffee ice cream."

"You're favorite" she grinned, opening her own and handing him a spoon. "I went to the little ice cream place in the village. When I drove by, I just had to stop."

"How did you know it was my favorite" he teased, elbowing her lightly in the side.

"Of course I know" she laughed, showing him the contents of her own cup. "It's my favorite too."

He leaned back in the seat and stared off out to the forest's edge, shaking his head as if in disbelief. "April, you never cease to amaze me" he chuckled, taking a small bite.

For the first time in a long time, he felt like he wasn't being forced to eat something. He wanted to, because it wasn't just a chore, it wasn't a necessity. This was food for the soul.

And for a while, they just sat and enjoyed each other's company, submersed in the silence of birdsong and cicadas, far, far away from the rush and toxins of the city.

"Don."

Her voice held all seriousness now. He opened his eyes, unaware that he had nearly drifted off to sleep. He looked at her, haloed by the golden sunlight of a day nearly gone. One leg was drawn beneath her as she turned to face him in the swing.

"I brought something else for you" she said, reaching in to her deep sweatshirt pocket. Whatever she withdrew rattled as she pressed it into the palm of his hand.

"I know you ran out of pills. I've seen the way you walk, and I know sometimes you don't get out of bed because you can't. "

He rolled the little orange bottle in his hands and read the printed label. "Vicodin."

April nodded even though he still was staring at the bottle. "I had some surgery a year ago and I never had to take them. I thought maybe you would need them, if it got too bad."

Slowly, he drew his eyes to hers. "April… you do so much for me. There's no way I could ever pay you back."

Her hand reached for his again and her fragile warmth touched him. Her eyes blazed with intensity when she drew him up to look. "Don, just by being here, by coming back to me, that's all the payment I'll ever need."

At that moment, he could have cried with everything that was sweeping through him. But he didn't. He couldn't. So he let her hold him for a while as the sun sank low behind the trees and long shadows stretched far across the earth in the fading twilight sky.

And silence was his only prayer, that she'd never leave him ever again.

* * *

"You really _are_ a slug" Mikey laughed as he dodged another one of Raph's attacks. His brother seemed to be growing more agitated by the second, but it was a good kind of agitation, the kind of irksome annoyance that hinted Raphael just might be having _fun _(as much as he would deny it.)

Drawing back for a well-placed sucker punch, Mike was just too fast. He ducked beneath the strike at the last possible second and ran past his brother before he could recover.

When Raph turned around, Mike was catapulting off a tree and flipping overhead, howling with glee like a four year old playing leap frog.

"Are we gunna spar or what?" he growled at his brother, who just refused to stand still for more than a second. "Get ova here an' fight me like a real man."

"What, and get punched in the face? No, I think I like my odds over here" he grinned, sprinting quick as light until he was just a foot away. But instead of delivering a legitimate strike, he slapped his brother lightly on the cheek. It was a rotten, stupid trick, but it always seemed to piss Raph off just enough to abandon his brooding seriousness and go after him.

Raph made a frustrated noise when he swung and missed again. "So ya gunna play like that" he grinned deviously, eyes narrowed into a smirk.

All Mikey could do was yelp when his big brother's unexpected flying tackle sent them both reeling in the air and pinned him to the ground.

"Now what did I say about fightin' like a pussy?" he grinned, leaning all his weight onto his brother's plastron, pinning his arms down with his knees. "But if you're gunna fight dirty, I'll fight dirty."

Mikey shrieked beneath him like a wounded animal, tearing up with giggles when Raph started pinching him _hard. _He knew he probably would have bruises in the morning, but he didn't care. It was worth it just to see the laughter return to his big brother's eyes.

"No! Stop! Raph…" he screamed through the giggles and shrieks of pain. "that hurts!"

"Ain't that the point?" Raph grinned. "Now say it."

"No!"

"_Say it" _Raph growled, leaning harder into his baby brother to make him squirm.

"Raph, you're the best brother in the world!" he shrieked when he received another pinch. "You're… totally cool and great and…"

He paused and looked up to see if that was enough to set him free.

"Keep it comin'."

"You totally pull off the big, dumb hothead thing… I mean… not a lot of people can do that…"

Raph's eyes narrowed and he pinched his brother hard on the collarbone, making him yelp. "Be nice" he growled, shifting his weight on Mikey's plastron with a vicious grin.

"Uh… you're soooo much better than me, you're sweet, innocent baby brother who is soooo honored just to be crushed under your big, fat, ugly shell. But breathing is kind of necessary, so I would be just as honored to ask the awesomeist big brother in the world not to flatten me like a pancake and eat me for dinner."

Raph chuckled to himself and rolled off his baby brother into the tall, damp grass.

"Ya know you're a dumbass, right?" he laughed into the sky above, the impermanent golden day that had made out to be the best day in his life for over a year now.

Mikey didn't move from his spot in the grass, lying next to his brother, listening to his breathing. "Oh, I know" he smiled, pulling his hands up to cradle the back of his head. The breeze, the silence, the sheer being of that day seemed to be soaked in something beautiful.

But now it was almost gone, faded out beyond the trees and into dark horizons until morning's golden break. Mike was sure that no day would ever measure up in beauty or in fun than that day had ever again.

"It's going to be a nice night" he said dreamily, watching as the blue sky from above slowly melded into grey. "When do you want to go home?"

Raph had his eyes closed when he turned to look at him. He spoke without opening them again. "Nah, not for a while" he said slowly, peacefully, taking in the sweetness of twilight like a drug, an elixir of life.

For a long time, immeasurable in that moment of peace and solitude by any man made instrument of time, they just lay there in silence, letting their minds run through the tides and the currents of everything that flowed through from within, feeling for the first time in a long time, peace with what their lives had become.

"What do you think Don and April are doing?" Mikey asked to the sky above.

"Ah, Don's probably 'bout ready to have a conniption right about now" he chuckled and opened one eye to gage his brother's reaction. He was staring down at him, propped up by his elbows, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. He didn't know what that look meant, but something about it made him think Mike knew exactly what he was talking about.

"You've seen the way he looks at her" he insisted, closing his eye again.

"You noticed it too" Mikey gasped.

"How could I not?" Raph grunted, almost a laugh.

"It's just… I wasn't sure if I was really seeing it but… I was right." His last three words seemed to trail off into the twilight. "What do you think's gunna happen, then? I mean Casey…"

"Ah, it's just April. I mean… ya know Donny's been crushin' on her since we found her in tha sewers… It's just a dumb little thing he's doin' now. He'll get over himself once he figures it out. I mean… it's Don, right? Come on! He's just really fucked up in the head right now and his brain's gone all weird" he said, gesturing to his temple. "He'll figure out he's makin' an ass outta himself sooner or later."

After a few moments of silence and night sounds awakening in the forest, Raph sighed. "Besides" he said softly, almost sadly, "why would a girl like that be interested in freaks like us anyway?"

It wasn't just the words, but the way that he said it that struck a chord in Mike. They had all gone through fazes of being enamored with April. She was the only girl any of them had ever been close to, so it was easy to be smitten by her. Mikey himself remembered it well, but what he remembered the best was the pain of realization, that stinging harsh reality that it could never happen. She was human, he was not, and nothing in the world would ever change that.

Raph had never admitted going through it, though his brothers had their theories. But at that moment, the way he had spoken, proved it all to be true. His big brother knew that pain too.

For a while, the pair just lay in the soft kiss of grass and ever-growing darkness, letting their minds run away with them as unpredictable as the wind. It was then that Michelangelo started to notice how dark it really had become. The tree tops barely let the moonlight escape, filtering in to the forest floor in strange patterns and swaying shadows.

In the dark, every sound was amplified. Every shadow had eyes.

"Raph?"

"Hm?"

"Do you think that maybe… Leatherhead could be out there watching us right now? I mean… the guy did just _disappear._ And right now, I'm thinking of the _other _Leatherhead, the 'I'm gunna eat you alive because I can' Leatherhead. That would suck to just see his eyes glowin' out from the dark by that bush over there."

At that Raph opened his eyes and realized the thick, settling darkness. He propped himself up on his arm and looked wearily around into the menacing shadows. "Mikey, you're freakin' me out."

"I'm kind of freaking myself out" he murmured, wide eyes fixed to the spot he had imagined those bloodthirsty glowing eyes. His heart was pounding in his chest and in his ears because he could have sworn he saw something moving from somewhere behind the shadows.

"Raph…" he murmured, voice shaking "I think it's time to go home now."

"Ah, don't be sucha pussy" Raph teased, pushing himself up off the ground to sit.

"No! I really saw something… over there."

He pointed in the direction of the shadow behind an ancient elm flanked with a tangle of blackberry bushes. Raph squinted hard into the filtering moonlight, trying to convince his imagination to stop flashing him mental images.

When you've gone through so many horrific experiences, it was easy to come up with some pretty scary shit without even thinking.

Mikey was on his feet in a flash when a rustling in the bushes from behind caught their attention. Raph stood and spun around, starting to allow his doubt to fade.

There was definitely something out there. Exactly _what…_ that was the thought that terrified him.

Mikey's hand was on his shoulder, pressing himself against his older brother as if just clinging on was enough to protect him.

Raph cleared his throat and roared with his most imposing voice "Hey! Who's out there!"

Mikey's grip tightened on his brother's arm, because he was pretty sure he was going to pass out with fear. Every muscle in his body was singing with adrenaline, telling him to run, run as fast as he could in the other direction, because whatever was lurking there in the shadows was definitely not good.

As Raphael's voice echoed out and through the trees, leaving nothing but piercing silence and chirps of insects, a stick broke underfoot. But neither of them had moved. The sound had come from the shadows.

And then there was a shape… something definitely moving there in the darkness… moving _weird _like an injured animal.

"Oh shit" Raph gasped, taking a step backward. He wanted so badly to just turn and run if he hadn't been paralyzed with fear.

Whatever was out there, it was definitely big, and it was definitely _watching them._

"Uh… Leatherhead?" Mikey threw out, but no response answered him.

A strange, throaty clicking noise seemed to be escaping from behind the bush, a noise that could in no way belong to Leatherhead.

It was almost too late when the creature erupted from the bushes and was upon them, running on all fours in a way that by no means should be as fast as it was, swinging sharp claws and snapping glistening fangs in the filtering moonlight.

All the brothers knew to do was run.

But whatever this creature, this _thing _that had erupted from the shadows was, it wasn't human. And whatever sick, demented monster this was, it was definitely hunting them.

And it was definitely running faster then either of them ever could.

* * *

_I am sooooo sorry for the cliffie! I know, I don't update for over a week, make you read half a dictionary, then leave it like this! I'm awful… I know. I'll be working hard to write chapter four as fast as I can for you guys to make it up to you. Sorry again. Don't hate me._

_Much love (Did I mention I love you guys?),_

_Willowfly_


	4. Chapter 4: Lives Lost and Starlit Skies

Chapter 4: Lives Lost and Starlit Skies

Like blurs amongst blackberry thickets, two brothers dodged trees and snagging branches, the blood pounding deafeningly in their ears as breath fought to reach within their throats. But mere instinct drove them onward now, the gnawing fear and realization that whatever was chasing them would eventually overcome them. It was only a matter of when.

The way it was bounding through the trees just feet behind, a flash of pale skin and yellow eyes darting between shafts of moonlight, was inconceivable. The creature, nearly human in appearance, was built to be bipedal for sure, but somehow bounded between the trees on all fours, back arched unnaturally against the curvature of its spine and strange fangs glistening as it pounded through the wood with the practiced swiftness of a predator.

Even in its awkward, injured run, no mess of thorns, no tangle of brambles, no fallen oak would make it falter. Quickly, Raphael was losing any hope of outrunning it. But with one arm and no weapons, chances of surviving an attack were slim. So he ran, sweat pouring in icy trickles down his face, into his eyes as he leapt over a fallen log, watching Mike from the corner of his eye, sprinting in the filtering light, the heavy cloak of night.

"Mike!' he yelled over the pounding of his own heartbeat thrumming in his ears, syncing with his footfalls, the deadly siren song of panic. "We can't keep this up. Tha sonofabitch won't quit. We gotta think a somethin'!"

In the dark, Mikey's blue eyes shone wide and eerie, as if they gave off a light of their own instead of merely reflecting in the moonlight. "Did you see that thing, Raph? It's gunna kill us if we stop!"

He didn't sound as out of breath as Raphael, but his look of terror spoke volumes. He was running on pure, coursing adrenaline now, and he didn't plan on stopping any time soon.

"I don't know how much longer I can run!" Raph yelled again, nearly losing his footing in a muddy creek bed. They were being herded deeper into the blackened heart of the woods and the going was only going to get rougher from there. The impending darkness grew more consuming, the thickets thorn-laced and unpredictable, the old oak trees grown gnarled and close together, the clawing branches of the thorn trees. He could hear the creature's feral roars echoing not far from behind, the sound of breaking branches and torn thickets. He could almost hear its huffing breath, drawing nearer by the second. Every heartbeat brought it closer. Every breath marked a nearing toward the end.

Quickly Mikey was by his side, grabbing hold of his brother's shoulder with that same wide-eyed terror, pulling him along. "Come on, Raph, don't quit on me! Just keep running… maybe… maybe it'll get tired 'r something."

Raph couldn't find the breath to answer. Never had he been the fastest of his brothers- usually, he was the slowest in their games, and his endurance prevailed only in combat, not head-long sprints through the woods while chased by some unexplainable creature born from the belly of hell, thirsty for his blood. Adrenaline can only take you so far.

"Come on!" Mikey ordered, giving his shoulder another firm tug. But the muscles in Raph's legs were quickly turning to lead. Nearly a year of no formal training- only lifting weights in the dusty caverns of the old, rotting barn- was finally catching up with him.

"We can lose it in tha trees" he panted, leaping upward in one fluid motion onto a strong nearby branch. Mikey followed closely behind.

And they began their silent sprint across the treetops, leaping, landing, blind leaps of faith like Tarzan in the night- something fanciful, and yet, so deadly, memories of city rooftops flickering through their minds. They could see the creature below them now, its pale skin glowing horrid ivory in the dark amongst consuming shadow. There was no questioning it now- it was definitely faster, and for a while, it seemed to even be running slightly ahead, as if disoriented by its prey's sudden disappearance. That made Raph breathe a little easier, but never breaking the pattern of leaping from one strong limb to another, barely stirring the treetops' whispering leaves, the rattle and groan of ancient wood.

Until for one heart-stopping moment, the wood went silent, save for the eerie whispers of leaves, of night birds and crickets' songs, a fox screaming in the night. So eerie was its call- so foreign, so unfamiliar in the sudden silence it turned his blood electric. For a moment, he thought it another far away cry of the beast.

Mikey was breathing hard next to him, leaping from a nearby tree to rest on his own sturdy branch, leaning his shell back against the rough and ancient bark of a thick poplar.

His eyes were still wide, and that's what struck him now- how the electric blue still pierced through the darkness, bringing shame to the moonlight. Michelangelo, the ever-present light in the darkness.

"Do you think it's gone?"

"No."

"Do you think something bad's going to happen?"

"Yeah."

Mikey gulped, shuddering. "Me too."

But Raph was peering down to the leaf-litter ground, the cold dew of night settling in on fern's leaves like the grip of death settling in old bones. The chill of it crept upward and shook him, enveloped him in the crisp, star-soaked night. He shivered slightly when he saw no movement stirring below, heard no snap of twig nor feral roar, no hint to their impending doom.

Both brothers jumped with the sound of leaves rustling, whispering the eerie tongue of the forest, predictions of death.

Michelangelo murmured under his breath, eyes wide and back to the tree, the frantic eyes of cornered prey. "Shell."

Electric currents seemed to be bursting through the air, seeping into his bloodstream, jump-starting his heart into a frantic motion. Raphael stood with feet apart on the narrow branch beside his panicked brother, ready for the fight, letting old instincts take hold until that was all that was left of him, wound muscles, the warrior.

The sound was coming closer now, the same rhythm that had become a pattern, their pattern, just moments ago. Leap, jump, land, rustle, bend, leap. Every sound approached like an oncoming train and the two brothers only stood frozen in terror as if their feet were glued to the tracks.

Before he could comprehend, the beast was upon them, pale-faced and murderous with sliver clashing fangs that dripped saliva threads. In shock, brown eyes wide as Mikey's, he took a step back, but never losing his battle pose. He would fight until the very end, no matter how damaged, how inadequate, how unpracticed he was, Raph had way too much fight left in him to give up now. He had to protect Mikey, he had to protect his family now. This was his duty, his honor to preserve, his promise, just as Leonardo had intended.

As the beast reared its ugly head, Raph was surprised at his sudden thought of Leo- what he would do in the situation, what genius plan, what flawless, beautiful strike he would dole the creature with his flashing katana. And then, everything would be done, every ounce of it with sculpted beauty and finesse as he turned and sheathed his swords, that same familiar expression, stone-carved and unchanging, focused, perfect.

But Raph was far from perfect. He was flawed, damaged, as broken as he always had been, though stronger than he'd been before- mostly because of his promise to his perfect brother, gone from him now, but his shadow ever casting along the path to remind him- he had a long way to go. He would have always laid down his life unquestioningly for Mikey, but now, something much heavier pressed upon him.

As the beast roared wildly just inches from his face, Raph tried to be as stone as his brother, tried to forbid his muscles to falter. Instead, he panted, heart pounding loudly in his ears as he stood, far from grace, far from perfection, frozen to the tree branch, a living wall of brute strength between the monster and his baby brother. He wasn't Leo, but that could never stop him now.

"Bring it on, freak" he growled angrily between his teeth, finding more strength upon hearing the sound of his own voice. "You can't touch me if ya tried."

Then, as if on queue, the creature lunged with a grunting, alien sound, its sharp teeth snapping until it came down upon living flesh- Raph, letting the fangs sink down into tender skin, the remaining fragment of his battle-torn arm, the allure of the blood-rich muscle of his bicep as a sacrificial diversion.

His plans always had been crude, violent, gory, rash- but they always seemed to work out just fine in the end. He barely winced as the teeth sank in, drawing crimson blood around white daggers, broken flesh. And just as he expected, the creature became consumed with the taste, relished it unable to release until a bone-crushing blow to the side of its skull sent it reeling off the branch and downward, landing with a sickening thump to the base of the ancient tree, that cold, dew-coated ground below, swallowed by the icy shadow of death, blood running to its roots.

Mike drew nearer to him, breathing in the moonlight, in the sudden silence. So near, their quick heartbeats seemed to meld into one, the heat of panic ebbing cold as dirt. From below, the sound of leaf-litter stirred as the creature writhed and went still. When it lay, still as the grave, Raphael let a deep sigh escape his throat- a sigh of relief, of pity, of disgust.

Cautiously, silently, Michelangelo disappeared from the space behind him, dropping down and landing softly upon the ground, swallowed by the dark, so different from the way the haunting creature had landed, plummeting gracelessly to its death.

With blue eyes shining in the half-light, Mike approached slowly, studying the pale and naked creature with a mix of horror and terrified wonder pounding through his veins. It was dead- it had to be dead, the way its neck was twisted in so many sickening angles, the deadly crunch as its plummet met hard ground.

More reassured, he drew closer, taking in those impossibly lethal teeth- rows and rows of glistening, blood-stained fangs… stained in his own brother's blood, running slightly, delicate crimson from the corner of its mouth. But before he could blink, Raph was beside him, towering over his crouched form, the dead carcass on the ground, with blood trickling with the same brilliant crimson from a perfect row of gashes on his arm.

Mercilessly, with disgust written on his face, Raph nudged the body with his foot. The corpse was cool and strange, almost human… soft, yet icy pale, wiry muscles snaking through the flesh… flesh seemingly interrupted by something hard, smooth, slightly sharp at the edges here and there across its body, infected like plague sores.

"What the fuck was that?" Raph frowned, pulling his foot away from the clammy skin with a shudder, drawing himself further, deeper into the shadows. There was something so obviously disturbing about the creature that lay so near him now, something so gravely familiar, the sight of it made him sick.

Mike was still squatting by its face, engrossed in something that escaped his older brother, who was so deeply repulsed. Slowly, without drawing his eyes away, he spoke.

"I think you should be asking _who _that was."

Even in the darkness, he could tell Raph was puzzled. He pointed in the darkness to what had captured his attention, disturbed him so deeply, yet refused to let him tear himself away.

"His eyes… he has… human eyes" he murmured, shooting a confused look at Raph, his brain slowly connecting the dots, but his heart refusing to let it. It was… just too terrible to comprehend. There was a strong, gnawing possibility that this… this _thing_ had once been human.

They had seen this before.

Raph drew nearer, skepticism shining clear in his eyes, clinging to the doubt with desperation, but quickly lost his hold. "They were glowin' yellow justa second ago… I mean… this can't be no human, look at it!"

It was a denial to justify the kill, to forbid the memory, to halt the sudden clawing guilt that ravaged his insides at that very moment when he saw those hollow, unfocused brown eyes. But he had sworn he'd seen them differently, just moments before when the beast sunk its lethal fangs into his arm, letting the blood run free.

But that blood was just a trickle now, turning dark like thick molasses in sludgy rivers on his arm, and that monster… that man… whatever it was, was not the same creature he had sent to its death, the same blood thirsty animal that had chased them through the woods, hunted them like vermin.

Mike was right… it did have human eyes.

Both brothers felt leaden.

They had seen this before.

"They're like Leatherhead's…" he trailed, voice barely a whisper, drowned out by night noises and the sound of crickets chirping in the leaf litter. The lone fox cried out into the night again, making their skin crawl with its eeriness.

Raph had no response but to take a step closer, becoming more interested in the hideous creature the longer it laid dead. He crouched beside his brother and studied the strange skin, reached out and touched it, fingers brushing the back of its shoulder, its face only half-exposed, buried in the partly in the blackened earth, those soft brown eyes still staring into nothing from the hollows of death.

"It can't be…"

But Raph didn't get a chance to finish his sentence as he felt the breath sucked out of him. The gentle brush of his fingertips against the cool, dead skin had seemed to ignite new life into the corpse, electrifying it as though by impulse, feeding off his sudden terror. Quickly, he drew his hand away as it began to slightly stir, new light returning to the once-clouded eyes.

"It's… he's… still alive" Mike gasped, blue eyes wide in shock, though he did not move away as his brother had, repelled again by its revolting appearance, the deep sickness it brought to the pit of his stomach to know that this could have been a man, a man with a family, a life, a meaning, a purpose other than stalking prey naked and alone, cold flesh under the silver silence of the moonlight.

"K…K-Ka…"

Mike drew his face nearer to the shuddering, labored breaths, the desperate sounds escaping from feeble lips, white and bloodless as its skin, the fangs still apparent yet less threatening in its weakness.

"K… Ka…"

Mike's eyes drew towards Raph, now standing, repulsed, a few feet behind him. "I think he's… trying to say something."

Raph's look of disgust only deepened. "You tellin' me this thing can talk…" he trailed, shaking his head. He looked like he was going to be sick "man… this is just… so wrong."

"Hey" Mike whispered softly, as if lulling a child to sleep "what's your name?"

The creature's eyes slowly, painfully rolled upwards in its skull to meet the intensity of the blue gaze cast upon him from above. For a moment, it looked almost afraid, but still remained unmoving.

"W-what…"

Mike didn't answer, Raph couldn't answer, but they knew the question well, the look on its face told it all. It was scared, scared of_ them._ Raph almost chuckled for a moment before realizing the situation and biting his tongue. That…that t_hing_… wanted to know what _they _were. The irony of it was almost too much to handle.

Before either of them could train their brains to form coherent words, the creature's eyes seemed to drift again, clouding over, reflections of the moon.

"Kate… my Katie… I-I'm so sorry…"

Raph shot a disbelieving look at Mike. It talked. That _thing_ was sentient… it talked. There was no doubt in his mind that the thing was once at least something like a human, and the thought, the terrifying familiarity sickened him further, forming into a hard little knots in the pit of his stomach.

"What's your name, dude" Mike asked again in that same, soothing, motherly tone, hand resting lightly on his shoulder.

Then, all at once, the monster seemed to snap to, its eyes moving over toward the hand that touched him, a look of terror sparking blazed behind its eyes. This time, it did not try to ask any questions, but let the light of terror instead fade, seemingly unfazed. The acceptance of a dying man.

"A... Agent Edward Freeman, B-14927, Houston, Texas, reporting for duty, sir."

Mike sat back on his heels and blinked. The flow of numbers, names and places…all of it escaping heavy through the air, strung together by a silken thread, a stream of information, meaning little and yet so much. He repeated the line over and over in his mind, letting it burn into his memory. Maybe Don would know something about it once he got back… if and only if Don was willing to help.

"Edward?" he asked softly.

The creature's eyes drew slowly up to his, casting away from the stone and expressionless stare.

"What happened to you?"

But he only winced in pain, those grotesque, revolting features twisted into something even more awful than before, features that had once been human made so foreign, so repulsive, so twisted.

Mikey's hand rested gently on its- _his _shoulder as if in comfort as a sickening noise of pain escaped the creature's lips. _His _eyes were wide in fear as they rocked within their sockets as to look without moving , incapable of moving. They had heard the crunch of bone, they saw now the odd twist and angles of the broken neck…

The creature shuddered, bones quaking cold as stone with involuntary tremors, as if suddenly discovering it was naked.

Raphael drew nearer, crouching again beside his brother, a mixture of fear, confusion, sickness, disgust playing with the flecks of amber in his eyes. His voice was harsh, cold and monotone to hide it.

"What are you?"

Mike shot him an ugly glance, jabbing his brother in the side with his elbow. Edward only swallowed and remained still.

"I… I can't…"

Mike's eyes were still piercing into Raphael, an eerie blackness plaguing them, disgusted by his brother's cold cruelty. But he didn't understand that the same thoughts, those same gripping emotions were engulfing him too, only Mike was a nurturing soul, outwardly kind, unashamed to show his weakness. Raphael was different. This was his way.

"He doesn't remember anything" Mike said sharply, never losing his glare. "I don't even think he knows were he is."

Again the creature shuddered, neck bent in odd angles upon the ground. Painfully, he closed his eyes.

"I… I can't… feel."

Now it became obvious for the look of panic that shook the creature's eyes.

"I-I'm going to die, aren't I" he said gravely, sounding more lucid, those unmistakably human eyes darting quickly between the brothers' shadowed forms, two demons in the night, breath coming to his lungs in labored croaks and gasps.

Raphael answered him with that same gruff, merciless husk that only stained his voice when exposed to something deeply disturbing, when he was helpless to end it. But still, Mikey didn't understand. That coldness, that wall, was a part of him that would never die, a part of him that stood against the test of time. When something pushes, always push back ten times harder.

"Ya snapped y'r neck attackin' me" he said with a nod, cold, blunt, dispassionate, earning him another accusing glare from Mike.

But Edward did not seem to be offended. He closed his eyes, swallowing, and opened them again, pleading to the moon.

"Kate…Oh god… Kate… I'm so sorry… I can't feel…"

"Hey! Uh… Edward," Raph said suddenly as the light began to fade from the creature's eyes once again, and with that fading light was his only chance at knowing, his only chance to make this right. "Who did this to you? What c'n you remember?"

Edward's eyes fluttered over glazed honey brown eyes, clouded like the moon.

"B-14927… I'm sorry, sir, systems are irreparable… the virus is too strong…everything is lost… I… Please! No! I have a family, sir…"

He shuddered again, voice becoming barely a whisper, his clear, troubled eyes connecting with Raphael's, pleading for a life lost long ago. "Please" he begged, "no."

Then his eyelids fluttered for a moment, breathing slow, shallow.

"Hey! Hey! Stay with me!" Raphael demanded, pushing Mikey's hand away to shake its cool shoulders, head lolling on the ground upon its broken neck, that pallid white skin interrupted by protruding, putrid scales.

"Who did this to you?" he yelled, as if his roar into the night could pull souls from the land of the dead.

But it couldn't. He had learned that lesson one year ago.

The creature remained limp in his grip, eyes frozen in a permanent glaze of fear- cold, silent, devoid of life, sucked free of anything but hollow darkness. Hesitantly, Raph drew himself away as the final wisp of dying breath escaped the monster's lips, the haunting whisper into death's final release.

"Damn."

Upon the stillness of night, the passing of death, the deafening silence that gripped them both and encloaked the world in darkness, the two brothers sat back on their heels, defeated.

"You didn't have to scare him like that" Michelangelo murmured amongst the hum of insects, the air absent of nothing but breath, a chilling breeze sending electricity rushing down his spine.

Offended, Raphael shot him a look. "Didn't you wanna know what the fuck just happened here?" he said sharply, gesturing to the pale and broken body of the creature once known as Edward Freeman, that now lay dead upon the forest floor.

Mike couldn't peel his eyes away.

"Well… yeah, but…"

"But what?"

"He was dying, Raph."

The blue of his eyes were shining deep like crystalline seas with the gnawing ability to penetrate into the darkest depths of his now oldest brother, exposing weaknesses he was unwilling to see in himself. There was something ugly, something so grotesquely disturbing yet so vaguely familiar about the creature and its death- about the man once known as Edward Freeman, calling out to a life lost long ago.

In that instant, with his baby brother's pleading eyes upon him, the cool chill of moonlight rays in that misty darkness, Raphael realized that everything, all that had happened in the past darkened moments of his lifetime were meant to be put aside, left away in the past, to come as fleeting memories as Leonardo's ghost had come to him on that oak tree branch, looking his own death straight in the eye.

Their lives, the way they had been so long ago, before the future, before the war were calling them… telling them to move on.

"I know" Raph murmured softly, eyes looking upon the still, lifeless body of a complete stranger on that old forest floor- a stranger who reminded him that there was still room for compassion in this broken world, that he and his brothers still had a calling to protect the weak, avenge the wicked, fight for honor till the death.

"It's like you didn't even care"

Raph shook his head, daring himself to look his brother in the eye. "No, Mike. That's tha thing… I do care."

Mikey paused, speechless, reveling in the rare glance into his brother's deepest regions, a place of weakness he had kept so deftly under lock and key every fleeting moment of his life.

"We gotta do somethin' about this" Raph said finally, barely believing his own words. "I dunno how much we can do, but… this just ain't right."

Mikey's eyes swept the pale and lifeless form, those soft human eyes now shrouded in the misty cloak of death.

"Yeah" he said gravely, voice monotone.

Raph took one more passing glance at the body and shivered at a sudden chill in the air… the hollow cold, the hand of death. Slowly, he picked himself up off the ground.

"I don't know what we can do" he said, shaking his head "but we gotta make this right."

In the moonlight, he turned and watched his baby brother, so compassionate, so torn to pieces over the stolen, tragic life of a complete and total stranger. His blue eyes were tinged with hidden tears and looked as if he wanted to cradle the now-cold body, though his fingers would dare him not. So he instead sat, mind brimming with the wretchedness of it all, the injustice, all the things that he could do to make it right.

Noticing his brother's eyes upon him, looking from the shadow's, his own shining eyes flickered back to meet Raph's gaze, soft brown and haunting in the moonlight.

"C' mon Mikey, let's go."

But Mikey's eyes only turned back to the gruesome body, drawn ever closer with Raph's efforts to tear him away.

"And just leave him here? We gotta bury him or something, at least."

Raph shook his head. "No, come on, we'll come back in tha morning. This place is givin' me tha creeps."

"We can ask Don" Mike said quickly, a flicker naive of hope "he'll know what we can do."

Raph's voice gained an edge while he spoke, growing suddenly stronger. "Do you really think _Don's _gunna do anything for us… for _this _right now. He's too fucked up in tha head ta do mucha anythin'. Don't ya see it Mikey? We ain't who we usta be. It… it just took Don a little longer to figure it out. I dunno what we're gunna do about this… or if we even can do anything."

Mikey stood from his spot beside the body, a flicker of anger beneath his gaze. "Raph, listen to yourself! I don't know what your problem is all of a sudden, but we can't just forget that Don exists just because it's convenient for you. Don is still Don, he'll still have all the answers and nothing's gunna stop us from finding out what happened to this guy."

Raph closed his eyes, shaking his head vigorously in frustration. "No, Mike, you don't get me. I ain't forgetting nothin' about Don, I just… I know what he's goin' through, is all. Don't you remember what it was like when you first saw it… when you figured it's never gunna be tha same? Man, I got seriously fucked then, and so did you. So…don't expect him ta have all the answers. Maybe he will, maybe he won't, but none a' that's gunna stop us. I dunno how much we can do, but fuck, that won't stop us from tryin' like hell."

With a faint smile, Mike unfolded his arms, losing that fire of anger to admiration, understanding for his brother's sudden leap into wisdom, sounding more like Leo every day. The world was changed, their lives would be different, but that would never stop them from living each moment to the fullest, and going down fighting when the end finally comes to claim them.

"Well, we can't just leave him here" Mike said quietly, turning back to the body that lay prone in the moonlight.

"Yeah, we can" Raph said stubbornly, starting to make his way through the tangles of brambles in search of the path. "Do ya really feel like gettin' attacked again? 'Cause I think I got my share a fun for one night, an' my arm hurts like hell."

Mikey hesitated, uneasy on his feet for a moment as he looked back to the body, that sickening twist of its neck. "Ok, fine" he pouted "but first thing in the morning you're gunna help me bury him."

When his younger brother approached, looking more worn and world-weary each passing moment, Raph gave him a small sideways smile, patting him on the shoulder. His blue eyes slowly drew up, sad, tired, worn, but still with that small spark of life hidden beneath.

Raph sighed, looking deep, knowing well his brother's pain.

"We'll make this right, Mike. I promise."

* * *

The stars had come into the velvet night sky, millions, billions of silver unblinking eyes gazing down upon them from above- a sight Don had seen only on tv until his late teen years, an untouched virgin sky unmarred by the sickly haze of city lights.

Neither of them had spoke a word for so long, it seemed the moment was incapable of anything but silence, stars, night-sounds. His little cup of ice cream was left empty and abandoned long ago, alongside the shining little bottle of Vicodin, a medicine made obsolete compared to this fair silence under the star-soaked sky, sitting side-by- side with April O'Neil. Yes, this was the stuff of dreams.

A distant cry echoing from far within the darkened woods pierced through the silence and into the stars, its eerie sound making April tense and turn her eyes to him, in search of something he was not sure he possessed… the ability to reassure, to protect her from all the evils that lurked within the shadowed world. He wasn't the same turtle he used to be, as much as she would demand he was. But all the wishes she could make on one billion unblinking stars would never make him change back into the Don he once was, the Don he saw reflected in her hopeful eyes every time she looked at him and spoke of hope.

"Red fox" Don smiled teasingly "pretty strange cry to hear in the middle of the night, isn't it?"

April smiled sheepishly and nodded, though still apparently frightened by the haunting sound. "I've heard it before" she whispered, as if she talked to loud it would hear and hunt her down. "My uncle used to take me on camping trips when I was a kid, but every time I hear it, it still gives me the creeps" she said with a shiver.

"Don't worry, it won't hurt you" Don teased, nudging her playfully in the dark "that is unless it has rabies."

April pouted, nudging him back. "Hey! That's not nice. You're supposed to make me feel better, not add fuel to my overactive imagination. I hope you're not this mean to your brothers!"

Don grinned. April could hear the smile better than she could see it.

"That's nothing" he laughed "and what's worse is sometimes they don't even know I'm only teasing."

"Oh, you're awful" April laughed, acting unimpressed, but so overjoyed to hear Don laugh again she couldn't stop herself from smiling. It was a sound she hadn't heard for four straight years, the most laughless years of her life.

After a while, the silence reigned again, drawing eyes toward the blackened wood and what creatures of the imagination lay hidden behind the density of thickets, those ancient, twisted trees.

"It's getting dark. They should've been back by now" Don said quietly, his grey eyes ignited by starlight and worry.

"They'll be ok" April smiled, placing a warm little hand on his shoulder. He turned his eyes to her and melted. "I'm kind of enjoying the quiet. With Casey around, I never seem to have any time to myself anymore."

Don turned away, studying his hands on his lap, the ground, the mottled wood of the rotting porch, anything to tear himself away and sink back into that starry oblivion where Casey didn't exist, where April was his own, where he was stronger, where the nightmares and sudden flash of memory didn't rip him to shreds every time he closed his eyes. Because for that one moment in time, looking up to the billions of unblinking stars, that was where he was… alone in the universe, free, with April by his side.

But the ugly sound of that name dragged him back to harsh reality.

"For a long time, all I've known is quiet" he whispered in the darkness, feeling the strengthening urge to run, to retreat into his darkened room, turn the lock forever and never come out again.

April's look intensified, begging him to continue, to open up and reveal to her all the demons that plagued him, everything he kept locked away from the world. There was so much she knew, so much more than anyone, and yet, she was so impossibly far away from complete truths- truths Don knew he could never keep, but could never express.

The pain ran far deeper than old wounds would tell, deeper than the haunting memories and darkened places of his mind, the hollowness he felt inside. But she could never know it all, could never understand unless she felt it for herself, in her own mind, in her own beating heart. He was damaged and had room for such twisted things. She was raw perfection, a goddess in the world of men, she would never fully understand the curse of tortured mortals.

But still, he would try, because if someone had to know, if someone had to keep him from imploding, it would be April.

Her little hand gave him a reassuring squeeze, but still she said nothing, letting her eyes speak volumes, wordless and profound, straight into his broken soul.

"There's… there's just so much I didn't know" he said softly, swallowing the bitterness of reality like a poison, a burning medicine. "I… there's just…"

He looked to her then, weak as if stripped from his skin, exposing veins and capillaries, muscle and raw blood, the shadows that still dwelled within his soul. There was so much he didn't know, so much he thought he knew about the past that now seemed like just a dream, a haunting nightmare, blending fact with reality until he remembered all, thought less.

For so long, he had been content with the cards that fate had dealt him. For so long, he had it all figured out. But now the rest, the missing pieces, came back to him in a dream, everything he had forgotten, everything about the war, those pieces tearing him apart instead of fitting him together. So much, so little, so far away.

Painfully, his eyes searched hers for answers, answers he could only find within himself.

"I remember being sick… the surgeries… Mikey being there, and Master Splinter. But, there is so little I actually knew back then, so much I let myself forget."

"They never told you" April said grimly, shaking her head.

Don laughed bitterly. "Of course not. Don't you know who I've become? I'm weak, April. I've told you a thousand times, I'm weak, and as much as you refuse to see it, I know, my brothers know. They don't see me like they used to. I'm just some fragile thing they need to protect now. But they can't save me from me. They can't save me from the things my mind is trying to remember. I knew so little then, but I know a lot now. I know what they had gone through. I know what we have lost."

Tearing his eyes away, he glared, eyes hard as stone piercing to the ground. "I know all the things they wouldn't tell me. I hate that they didn't tell me."

The muscles of his arm tensed beneath her hand, but she fought the urge to pull it away. The urge, that vital instinct to retract from its electricity, that fatal storm brewing beneath his skin. Something dark and strangling, eating like a disease from the inside out, wanting to infect her, her stubborn heart immune.

Something far beneath was ticking… about to erupt like an atom bomb, hot beneath his skin, winding down the final seconds until that final great release. Until the aftershock, the end.

But she would never pull away, she would never leave him to die alone. Whatever darkness, whatever storm that lay twisting in his heart she would stand and face unafraid of what may come because this was Donatello. This was her guardian, her savior, her friend. As much as he had changed, as much as he had suffered, nothing in the cruel and wretched world would change that. She would stand, together or alone, and let the darkness consume her, blow her away like dust on the wind, so he would never be alone.

"I know you've seen a lot. I know there's things you've suffered through I could never even dream of, but still, you can't let it shake you. You're better than this. You're stronger than this."

Her bright eyes shone in the moonlight now, fine little fists clenched in stubborn determination, enough tenacity to share for the both of them.

Don looked back at her, skeptical, and yet, he remained speechless.

Maybe she was right.

Maybe he was better than this.

Biting back a laugh, he shook his head at the absurdity of it all. Idiocy. His entire life had become nothing but sheer idiocy. Whether she was wrong or right, whether he was weak or strong, it didn't matter now. He was wasting his life away, starving himself of everything wholesome, everything life-giving and bright, to betray his father's last sacrifice, his brother's tragic death, locked away in a darkened room, dreaming of the past.

When he turned his eyes back to April, she was staring at him, puzzled at his odd reaction, that hard look of determination still chiseled upon her face, as if she could will him back to life, to breathe everything he had lost back into his lungs, to set a fire behind his eyes, the fire she had once remembered burned so brightly what seemed like so long ago.

His eyes were sullen now, and she refused to believe it. She could never believe that the light was gone forever. She had to coax it back somehow, blaze it into existence any way she can.

"April, I don't even know who I am anymore" he sighed, closing his eyes to the suddenly blinding eyes of stars, that silver harvest moon.

"You do know" she said fiercely, almost demanded it to be so. "You know exactly who you are, because as much as you think you've changed, it all stays the same in the end. I look at you, talk to you on nights like this and I still see Don, I hear Don. Maybe he is a little different than the day you found me in the sewers, maybe I've changed a little too, but nothing could ever change who we really are. Nothing can ever change our souls."

Don smiled a crooked, sideways smile. April was trying to sound profound, to get her message across, and she was pretty good at it too. He had no idea why he had the sudden urge to crack a smile, to laugh nervously, heartily, whatever his heart desired. Maybe it was because she was cute when she was so determined, maybe it was because she was right, but whatever the reason, he knew not all of it was lies. As hard as it was to believe sometimes, he was the same person he had been before the war, before the tragedy, before the nightmares and the memory. He was changed, that was easy to see, but the similarities were what stood the test of time. There was no doubt he was the same, the same thread of life spinning on a fulcrum till the end, one continuous web, one silken thread, from the beginning to the end. It was hard to see where the lines blurred, where one part meshed into another, changed, twisted a little, strained here and strained there, thicker in parts, stained. But still, the stuff of life, the material by which that mortal thread was weaved was still the same in the end, still the same fiber by which his life was strung at birth, the same material by which it would be woven the moment of his death.

"Carpe diem" she whispered, that same quick determination, a flicker of light, hope within her eyes.

Slowly, the rocking of the swing swayed to a halt. He laid his head back to the stars, and whispered his desperate prayer. "Cease the day."

Don't just wait for life to pass you by, don't shut yourself away anymore, don't feel dead under the weight of lock and key, of memory crushing down upon you. Free yourself from this manmade prison, this place of blood and flesh and bone, because this… all of this isn't real anymore. But was real was soul, the stars, April.

He could hear his brother's emerging from the darkness, hollow echoes and quick footfalls, eerie voices upon the still wind, almost frantic somehow… defeated. They were near approaching and Don could never tear himself away, like that oncoming train, he couldn't loose himself from the tracks, from the imminence, the terrifying permanence of that looming storm. Never could he hide again and watch his life pass him by on the sidelines, watch him tear himself to pieces before his very eyes, scatter on the wind. April could deny him that… he should deny himself that with the revelations he had made that night.

But his brothers, they would remind him tonight of how tattered life has really been, of everything past and yet to come, the shadow of his weakness following behind him once again, sewed to the soles of his feet. He could never shake it free, never set it loose from the tight, relentless bindings without Aprils bleak determination, denial, truth.

Maybe she was wrong, maybe she was right, but he had to do something before it was too late. He had a theory he was willing to prove, and if his hypothesis was right, he had nothing left to lose.

_This chapter is dedicated to Ming (chanmui04) and Tauni, for giving me much needed inspiration and for dealing with my total lack of sanity. Go check out their fics, they're awesome, really._

_Much love to you all and thank you for your patience,_

_Willowfly_


	5. Chapter 5: Winds of Change

Chapter 5: Winds of Change, the Shifting Tides

Ever since he was wide-eyed and innocent, Donatello knew a lot about the world, the things that Master Splinter had taught him, the things the sewers had made him learn, the things he had taught himself to discover within the endless pages books, the world of humans, the shadows, himself.

Knowledge, that was the key, his key to fitting back the pieces, belonging, making himself known.

It seemed so long ago now, those years upon years of knowing more, learning more, hungering veraciously for it without ever being satisfied, always the source of infinite answers, amazing in his brothers' eyes.

But now, things were different. Now, things had changed. For a year he had grappled with the answers, the reasoning behind it all, because there just had to be a reason, there had to be a solution, a purpose , a cure. But everything around him just seemed to be broken, unmendable, shattered into a million tiny pieces like lethal shards of broken glass, fractured beyond his repair.

He was once the smart one, the genius, the engineer, the one with all the answers. So why now did his mind go blank? Why, after all these years of knowing, of reason, of answers, did he feel like all that knowledge, everything he had ever known, had slowly been drained away?

He felt so void, so dumb, so mute and hollow and dark and all those terrible things he did not recognize within his once quick mind as he stared at Raphael's figure in the dark, lit by sallow moonlight, blood trickling in slow, thick rivulets that shone black and glistening in the half-light, under all those glinting eyes of stars. And again, he found himself blank, grappling with the answers, struggling with the reason. He felt like concrete, the immovable, heavy object that lay tucked aside in a corner and forgotten, mindless, broken, useless.

Even Mikey wouldn't look at him now, as Raph explained something to April, not him, but April, everything that had happened in the wood, his fearsome, twisted tale of monsters and of darkness, all the howling, creeping things that lingered in the night and haunted children's dreams.

The cold chill of the deep night, the stark grey moon casting silver shadows around the rotting floorboard porch, a gripping breeze that chilled his blood, made him shiver slightly but could not cool the fire burning within.

Somehow, he just couldn't train his brain to listen. He just couldn't clear away the fog. All he could think about was hollow anger, the terrified fascination as he stared at Mikey, his blue eyes wide and filled with panic, refusing to meet his gaze.

The blood, it too was fascinating and thick, full of life and torn like tears from flesh, ripped from muscle, carved from his brother's skin. He could still see Raphael's scars in the dark, yet another stark reminder of his impending mortality, of everything his life had brought, whispers of tragedy, of pain, of loss. His brother's arm, lost to him forever, irreplaceable as his father's life, his beloved brother, their final sacrifice.

It was gone now, all gone and out of reach, lost to the past and slowly searing its way into his brain like a brand, a mark, a scar carved from the grey matter, marring him, giving him those scars he carried with him now for life, both within and without, those twisting black fingers, reminiscent of the ever-present looming shadow of death.

Maybe that was why he was slowly losing his grip on reality, himself into the darkness, to memory. Because with each stark reminder, he remembered just a little more of the nightmare, lived it all again. And as he stared at his brother's scars, the sluggish flow of blood from puncture wounds as it hit the broken flesh and traveled thickly like currents around its roughs and ridges, it all flooded back to him again.

His mind went blank and all he could do was stare at the lines, the gruesome scars that seared like lightning, buried deep like roots. He remembered, saw, felt the blood, and heard that final cry of pain, that final gory battle, the blood running thick as it mingled with the with grit and sand, his brothers' faces coated in their sins, the countless lives their own hands had taken, the rotting stench of war, made eyeless, unrecognizable, tainted and torn. Forever killing machines, tossed away in the aftermath, the fractured and forgotten byproducts of war.

All he could see was the shadow, the never ending, yawning mouth of dark.

He couldn't focus, his mind just blurred and smeared the lines together like familiar putrid blood sprayed across his face, his eyes, burning with the sudden tears of realization, his quickened breath, the breeze turning icy in his lungs and clawing. He could remember that feeling, that pain, the sound, the dark. And oh, the dark, the hungry, rabid dark…

It swallowed and consumed him.

He had to shut his eyes, close them tight and keep them closed as if he could shut away the things that played behind them now, focus on his brother's voice, that deep an injured husk, the crude tones, his colorful self-taught accent he secretly loved so well, the story he had told, stories of monsters and of men, of fear not meant for him, but for April because he was inadequate and he was weak, because he no longer had any answers to give.

But no matter how he willed himself to focus, to calm his breath, his beating heart, all he could think of was the dark, the squeeze, the sickening pop of bone that echoed loudly in his ears, flooding memory coursing thick like blood.

"Donny? Are you ok?"

Mikey was looking at him now, crouched down to meet his eyes, and Don couldn't help but blush. The story must have ended, or his breath had made them stop. His brother's blue eyes were still full wild fear, the look of prey, of adrenaline, now stained and eerie with the poison of concern. Raphael's voice had gone silent for a time he could not remember, and they were all staring at him now. They were all...

…_Covered in blood he stood, an ocean of red pooling at his ankles as he stopped, stunned, eyes wide and wild with sickness, fear, shock, the end. His weapon clattered to the ground, that hollow sound like death bells tolling, like opening the gates into hell, he just stopped and stared until the darkness fell, that cold and looming shadow, what dwelled behind the gates of hell itself swallowing him whole, numbing cold, Mikey's frantic voice fading as it pulled him further away from all the pain, the panic, rushing through his ears. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't breathe. He couldn't…_

…breathe. It was coming in frenzied ragged gasps and his eyes were cemented shut like iron curtains to the world, the panicked voice of Michelangelo, Raphael bleeding, Leonardo dying, sickly, venomous fear, adrenaline pounding through the air.

He was numb, numb again like he remembered, back when he was sick, unfeeling, the aftermath, his terrible fate as the darkness crushed him in, that engulfing cloak of night, the silent brink of death after the crack of bone made him deaf, like floating underwater, drowning in his own hot pool of flowing blood black like the rivers running into hell, the scent of sickening defeat.

He must have been gripping onto the railing of the wooden swing, because somewhere amongst the crushing, all that choking blood, someone was prying his fingers away. They too, felt like they did bleed.

Something small, fragile and warm was holding him gently as he squeezed, so fragile, so breakable, but he just couldn't loosen his grip, like something strong was pulling him away, and the feel of it was the only thing left to tether him to reality, to the world, to a place far beyond the aftermath, the horrors, the forgotten, the rotting smell of blood haunting his putrid, tainted dreams.

But all he could think about was the blood, the crushing cold, numbness.

"Don, listen to me."

It was April, reaching out to him, that stubborn determination edging in her voice, something so beautiful, so pure, it didn't belong in the clutches of such terrifying darkness, carried by the tides of all this blood.

She said something, spoke to him softly, whispered like the cool night air upon his skin like a kiss, the flutter of butterfly's wings, the midnight breeze he hungered to breathe, his lungs aching for their touch, but all that weight, all that crushing stone, forbade it all to come.

Both her hands clutched his as his eyes slowly dared themselves to open, submerge themselves into her sea of green, flanked by two shifting silhouettes, his worried brothers.

"What's wrong with him?" Raphael asked quickly, as if daring not to breathe. Panic ran true within his voice, tainted it but only barely, letting it stain him only as much as he would allow.

"I think he's having a panic attack" April whispered just as quickly, never daring to tear her eyes away, those murky seas of emerald green, his only anchor to the outside world, so different from the sickly blackness of the world within his head, the suffocating smell of copper, its taste within his mouth, trickling hotly down the back of his throat.

"Over what?"

"That's a stupid question" Michelangelo retorted sharply, his eyes burning fiercely in the moonlight. He was glaring daggers at Raphael, every muscle tense, his mouth drawn into a hard, angered frown.

But Don was only glad his vision cleared enough to see it, slowly, as he battled for control. Every muscle in his body twitched, but only weakly, just enough to hurt. His chest still felt weighed down by stone, something like nausea clawing at his gut.

Raphael paused and caught his brother's panicked eyes, now torn away from April's, staring stunned at the blood running thick like black molasses down his battered arm. Mentally, he slapped himself.

Normally he would have cringed, would have lashed out, screamed at him for staring, felt that familiar maddening boil of violent anger that always welled within him whenever he caught their gaze glued to his weakness, his damage, even though he hated himself more than anything for making them stare, for being so ugly, so scarred, so battle-torn.

He had tried so hard to block it out of his mind, to think of his injury more like an inconvenience, something mechanical. But the stares, they always got him, reminded him of exactly how maimed he was and always will be.

But the fear, the sheer terror in his weakened brother's eyes gazing back at him, locked in the throws of his own panic and flooding memories, he could feel no anger, only shame, frustration, the almost primal urge to blind his brother right then and there, on the spot, tear his eyes from their sockets and banish him to blissful darkness because he had no other choice. He couldn't heal those scars. He would never be whole again, and he would never stop reminding them, like the conductor of his own black parade of darkened memory, forever cursed to lead the howling hoards of ghosts.

He never looked at his reflection, never since. He had willed himself to ignore it, to refuse to believe it, to turn his eyes away and chase the ghosts back to hell where they belonged. But if they followed him as veraciously as they did behind his brother, those sickly twists of scars like fingers of black lightning, he didn't stand a chance.

He hoped he would never see what had become of him. He hoped that day would never come, because that look, that very moment seeing his reflection in the eyes of his own brother, quickening his breath like all those ghosts were strangling him, that was enough. That was all he wanted to see.

Quickly, storming like a hurricane wind with a growl rumbling from deep within his throat, Raphael turned on his heels and burst angrily through the old screen door, fuming, hot self-loathing, disgust. He had done this to his brother. He had made him panic, and he was sure, he had made him remember.

A few minutes after Raph had left, April and Mike were left alone together on that old rotting porch beneath the cloak of night, listening to Don battling his own internal demons, his breath beginning to slow.

He had lost all concept of time when he finally managed to come slamming back down into reality, the gravity of it hitting him like a ton of bricks. April, standing there, looking on the verge of tears, but her mouth still drawn into that stubborn, tenacious little frown. Mike, shifting uncomfortably in the background, arms folded tightly over his plastron but seemingly unable to hold himself still, like he wanted so badly to do something, to make it better, but couldn't decide exactly what.

"Donny…"

In the silence, she must have seen his grey eyes wandering, catching the light of the moon in their new-found clarity. Still, he trembled, but her gentle smile eased his pain away.

Finally, he loosened his grip on her fragile little hands, sweet porcelain flesh somehow unbroken under his steely panicked grip. He held them gently now, cradling them with the tenderness they deserved, their fragile, perfect beauty.

He wanted to smile back, he really did, but the frown that seemed to be permanently etched upon his lips would not budge. He blinked slowly and swallowed down the imagined taste of copper in his throat. Softly, she pulled him up to stand.

"Come on, Donny" she said with a smile, letting him lean on her just a little bit, just slightly, and guide him like a lost little child through the rickety screen door. "Let's get you to bed."

His eyes were so sad, rueful, disappointed once again at his own gnawing weakness, something he could never so easily forget.

When he emerged into the familiar darkness of his room, that quiet cool like prison cells and paradise all rolled into one. He didn't know whether to balk or be relieved when its familiar scent came to greet him, the knowing creek of floorboards, drawn curtains, his shadowy reflection in that old, tarnished mirror, its flecking, scarred and brackish paint.

Still holding tight onto his hand, as if he would get the urge to run away, or simply fade out of existence before her very eyes if she even dared to let him go, she lingered in the doorway and turned to Mike with a sad and knowing smile. He still looked uneasy, his arms still folded across his chest and a gentle worried frown tugging at the corner of his lips.

"It's ok, Mikey, he'll be fine" she said softly, nodding to him his silent queue to leave, which he took without question, disappearing back down the hall. When he left, she gently closed the door.

Flicking on a soft lamp light on a little table by the bed, the shadows were chased away by the glow. Bedsprings groaned as she eased him down, slowly, and he trembled as he closed his eyes, her little hand warm upon his face.

"April…" he murmured, voice fading as it escaped "I feel sick."

"I know" she whispered softly, caressing his face, she sat beside where he lay, her fine fingers gently tugging at the knot of his bandana, slightly moist when she placed it on the nightstand, the betrayal of his hidden tears. She ran a hand across his face. "It'll all be ok. Someday, it'll all be ok."

"I don't know how much longer I can wait" he whispered, his eyes closed, the amber glow of lamplight soft behind his lids. The warmth of her touch, only magnified in the dark. "I don't know how much longer I can be like this."

For a moment, April paused, her little hand froze as she searched the walls for answers, her eyes finding the empty bottle of pills sitting neatly on that shabby, peeling dresser. Her heart felt like it could fall apart and shatter like a broken stone.

"You have no idea how far you've come" she whispered, giving his shoulder a little reassuring squeeze. "You have no idea how much I believe in you. I know you're stronger than this, you just have to learn find it."

He could feel her weight shifting, the old springs groaning as she stood and flicked the light off, turned to walk out the door. And that was when the rushing wall of panic hit him again, made him reach out into the dark he knew so well, grab back onto that warm little hand before she could think to pull away.

"Don't leave" he begged, because that was what she reduced him to, a graveling, babbling fool. She was like the air he breathed, his anchor to the living world. He just couldn't let her go. "Please, just stay with me a little while, until I fall asleep?"

Her hand squeezed his again, and he could hear her sad little smile, the desperate, nervous thrumming of his heart.

"Sure" she said warmly, that same sad smile, invisible behind the darkness but apparent in her voice. "But just for a little while."

All he could feel was joy, joy and a strange, flittering excitement bursting through him as she let his hand fall slowly from her grasp. He closed his eyes and listened to her delicate footfalls as she walked around the bed, that beautiful groan of rusted springs as she crawled in to lay beside him like she had in so many of his better dreams, her head buried in the crook of his neck, her cheek warm against his shoulder. He could smell her hair, soft like heaven and fields of lavender as he let the scent become his lullaby, drifting on the winds of dreams, the ever-shifting tides.

* * *

He had no idea what to do, no idea where to even go when April gave him his hint to leave. Even after a year, having Donny like this was still enough to make him feel unsure, awkward on his feet. He didn't know if he should reach out or stay silent, try to fix it or let the scars heal over on their own.

It was still so strange to see Don's weakness, to be reminded of it every passing day his brother refused to leave his room, refused to even talk or share a glimpse of that disease of darkness that was eating away inside of him, left every meal untouched inside the refrigerator. Instead, choosing to starve, to let his wounds sit and fester in their silence.

It was easy to see, everything he held inside betrayed by those expressive eyes, so unused to holding so much in. Don had never been like Raph, or Leo, able to hold things and suffer in their desperate silence until one day they finally imploded, able to keep their family in the dark until that terrifying breaking point, that last plummet into downfall.

No, Don wore his heart on his sleeve, always has, always will, and that's what made it so scary to look at him now, to see the pain, the self-loathing, the frustration, anger, disappointment in himself every time he caught his brother's glance. It was enough to make Mike want to fight it, to reach in and battle all those demons for him, because Don wasn't used to demons, didn't deserve all the suffering they sparked up inside him.

Before the war, Mike had never seen them either.

But in those days, the most lonely, gut-wrenching days of his life, the first days of sadness, pain, memory and scars still raw and so ready to bleed, he had learned to know his demons well. Back then, when so many had joined the fight, that epic battle, fabled between the angels of heaven and the creatures of hell, Don had been teetering on the weakest moments of his life. The fight for consciousness, for breath, that was his epic war.

Mike had admired him then, amazed at his tenacity, the way he stayed unchanged even in the sight of hellhounds knocking at his door.

He could have never known he didn't remember.

He could have never known it would come back to him this way.

He could have never known it would slowly tear his brother apart.

Mike knew he should tell him, let him know before his nightmares ate his brother alive and the memories killed him like they had already begun. But it had been so hard to even think of everything he tried so hard to forget, to push away in the name of change and brighter days. He and Raph, they had finally found strength enough to move on, leaving Don behind in the rubble, lagging further and further behind the horizon until he slowly disappeared.

His brother, his poor, damaged brother, was fading away.

But he hadn't told the story since, not since that day at April's where he spilled his guts out onto her kitchen table and made her cry, made himself cry, nearly brought even Raph to tears. Because out of all of them, he remembered the darkness, the demons, the gates of hell most. He was there, he was alone to see it all, to let it all burn its way into his mind and imagination for it to always linger there forever.

The demons, they were still there, but slowly, they had wormed their way into the back of his brain, making way for brighter things.

But Don, he had forgotten. He still had to relive it all again. But still, Mike didn't have the heart to tell him, couldn't force himself to remember all those wretched things in such terrifying clarity, even if it would spare his brother a little of the damage, a little of the wounds.

But Mike, even though he had done a lot of growing up, still was so naïve. Because still, there was a part of him that wished his brother would never remember, would someday wake up as the same old Don and live his life forever in the bliss of childish ignorance.

But he should have known better. This was Don, after all, his brother with the ever thirsting need for knowledge, never ignorant, even as a child. He should have known better that he would never let himself live his life that way. And whether it was conscious, or in his subconscious sleeping mind, he was searching for those answers, those missing pieces to complete the terrible puzzle, the answers he couldn't reach into his heart to give.

He just wished that April would go ahead and tell him already, spare himself or Raph from reliving those horrors again. But Mike still had a feeling that even April didn't know how little Don remembered, and if she did know, she wasn't going to let them off the hook so easily. It was their duty, and their duty alone, to suffer alongside their broken brother, and lend each other strength while he needs it the most.

But still, they were selfish, and it was easier to turn their gaze away, to let him suffer in his silence, pretend nothing was wrong instead of ever daring to look into those hungy eyes of demons once again.

Walking slowly down those creaking ancient stairs, Mike could see the blue light of the television pouring cooly from the shabby living room, its glow enough to snap him back to cold reality as he followed its pooling light across the floor, its shifting colors playing with the shadows on the wall.

When he stepped inside he froze and stared at Raph sitting there on the couch, his head dropped and cradled in his palm as if he was about to cry. But Mike should have known better.

"Why tha fuck did I hafta do that!" he seethed through his teeth, startling his younger brother with the ferocious snarl burning through his voice, as if reminding him that he was real. He should have known he would be angry. Raph had no room in him for tears.

He took a step closer, boldly opposing the primal urge to run.

"You didn't know" he said firmly, planting himself on the couch beside his brother. The ten o'clock news was on, but it seemed Raph was ignoring it for now, letting its glow engulf his face in shadows.

In one quick movement, he took his hand away and pounded the armrest with his fist, growling angrily in his rage and frustration.

"Son of a bitch!" he roared, eyes small and narrowed into venomous slits "how could I not know! I freaked him out, I shouldn't 've told April while he was sittin' right there. Fuck!"

He slammed his fist into the armrest again, making Mikey flinch.

"Raph! Knock it off!" he bit back, sending his brother a glare that was dangerous enough to make him catch his breath, palm his face again for a moment. "Maybe you shouldn't have let him hear, but I don't think it was the story that freaked him out. I think it was the blood."

As if realizing it suddenly, Raph peeled his hand away and lifted his head, glancing at the gory mess of his own battle-torn arm. Cautiously, Mike reached over and gingerly touched his brother's shoulder just above the gashes, their black, sludgy stream of dried and clotting blood.

"Maybe I can help you clean…"

"Don't touch me" Raph hissed through his teeth, tearing his arm away, making Mike jump and quickly pull his own hand away.

"If you don't clean it it'll get infected" he said dryly, eyes narrowed, his hand still lingering empty in the air.

"Fuck off, I'll do it myself" he hissed again, pulling further away before stomping off to the bathroom but leaving the door open. The warm, golden light poured its way onto the living room floor as the sound of the running tap filled the little room. Mike could hear April's soft footfalls coming down the ancient steps as he stared sullenly at the tv.

"He's asleep" she said quietly from the doorway, a sad little smile in her voice. Mike didn't care enough to turn.

"Do you guys want me to make you dinner? You two must be starving after all of that…"

"Not hungry" chimed both brothers sharply, bitterly, in unpracticed unison.

"Oh. Okay" she murmured quickly, walking silently over to the back of the couch, leaning on her elbows on the back of it, right next to Mikey's head.

"You know, this isn't either of your faults."

Eyes fixed on the tv, Mike didn't say a word. He could hear Raph gasp in pain as he cleaned his wounds, knowing full well the porcelain sink would still be stained red in the morning.

"Come on, Mikey, you guys just got attacked, you were scared, you needed to tell someone."

Mike peered coldly over his shoulder at her, his blue eyes shining by the television light.

"April… you don't get it. That thing… that _man… _it scared the crap out of me, out of both of us. How could we not know Donny would freak?" He turned his eyes slowly back to the tv, again refusing to meet her gaze.

"Mike…"

But before she could respond, Mike had snatched up the remote, eyes wide and urgent, staring at the television, he quickly cranked up the volume.

Upon the screen, a young girl, around eighteen, sandy blonde curls framing soft brown eyes had seemed to captivate all his attention. Trembling slightly, never peeling his gaze away, he called.

"Raph… get in here, you need to take a look at this!"

With some remnants of adrenaline still pounding through his system, Raph flew out of the bathroom, eyes wide and arm still dripping wet with sickening brown trickles of tainted water onto the shabby carpet, a towel, once white now made brown with bloodstains slung across his shoulder.

"What?" he gasped.

"Look" Mike said quickly, pointing a trembling finger to the screen.

Raph studied the image, skeptical and annoyed at first, then startled when he read the caption below. He shook his head in disbelief.

"Guys, I know she's pretty, but-"

Before April could finish her sentence, both brothers were shushing her harshly, urgency burning bright behind their eyes. Mike cranked up the volume even higher until the voice of the news anchor was booming almost too much to bear.

On the screen, the girls amber eyes burned with silent intensity as she stood behind a wooden podium , her ivory hands curled menacingly around its edges as she addressed the small crowd, cameras flashing like paparazzi from every direction.

"I will never give up hope in finding my father. I will not sit idly by and wait for his return. I will not simply wait around and do nothing like so many people have told me before. Whoever has done this, whoever has taken him away is a monster and deserves every punishment he will receive upon his capture. If you have any information about my father's whereabouts, I ask you to report it. I know the people who have done this are still out there, and if you're watching this, please, let him come home."

The camera angle shifted and a brunette news reporter spoke solemnly to the camera. A still image of a smiling man in a starched-white lab coat, the same warm brown eyes of the girl, sat like a plague sore at the top corner of the television screen.

"Authorities have reported no findings in the case of the disappearance of this world-renown scientist, but as his daughter had addressed during this afternoon's press conference, any information of the case should be reported to the authorities immediately. The New York City Police Department Hotline number can be noted on the screen below this broadcast. Anonymous tipsters will be honored. "

"This has something to do with the monster, doesn't it" April murmured slowly, gawking at the screen, trying to make sense of their reactions.

Without turning his gaze, Mike nodded. "That _is _the monster, April" he murmured, pointing shakily at the picture a top the screen. When the broadcast was finished and the stock reports started rolling blandly across the screen, both brothers slowly glanced at each other, then turned their eyes to April.

"And… that was…Kate."

Her name hung heavily in the air. Mike turned his gaze desperately to Raph, the only other person that was left for him to hold on to when he was searching for the answers.

Raph nodded solemnly, then confidently squared his shoulders. "I still don't know how we're gunna help this, but at least we got a lead. We got a place ta start looking for some answers."

_And find out if Bishop truly was behind it all._

That part remained unspoken, but lingered in the air just as heavily, just as terrifying and imposing as the proverbial elephant in the corner, like a living nightmare born from darkest dreams.

"Well, Mike" Raph breathed, all hint of anger now ebbing from his voice, replaced instead with urgency, with duty, with responsibility toward a promise he had every intention of keeping. "Looks like we're goin' back to New York."

* * *

_So school sucks, as most of you know, and so does writng three stories at once, which I probably shouldn't gripe about, since it's probably a piece of cake for most of you, but I can't multitask for the life of me. So here I am, updating PTL after god knows how long it's been, and apologizing for the wait. So sorry guys, thanks for hanging in there!_

_Today's my birthday, so this is my present to all of you. You can repay me in reviews. I think that's a fair trade, is it not?_

_hee hee. I'm evil, I know. But anyways..._

_Much love to you all,_

_Willowfly_


	6. Chapter 6: Bridge to Ruin

Chapter 6: Bridge to Ruin

Donatello pressed his forehead to the cool window glass as he watched his entire world pass him by, the golden-soaked fields of the low afternoon's sun gentle kiss of early fall wheat fields, the darkened shadows of the woods that stretched to meet the country roads, along with everything his mind could dare remember. Every flicker memory danced like crystal ghosts upon his brain, sharp-edged and fragile as candle's flame.

April's little red Toyota had been cramped at best for hours on end, but Raph and Mike hadn't let that get to them yet. They had been silent, Mike especially so with his downcast eyes examining the lines in his palms with scrutinizing detail. But it didn't take a mind reader to know that the fading scars and thick calluses upon his battle worn hands were a far cry from the true currents of his mind. They had buried the monster called Edward in the woods that morning, and the guy had looked even more terrible, even more maddeningly repulsive in the blood red rising sun. Those blank human features staring so coldly at him from the face of a creature haunted him still- those same kind brown eyes gazing back at him from the screen of a tv newscast, now made hollow by the hands of death, staring up at him beneath the first layer of fresh-lain forest dirt, a pleading cold prayer to the unforgiving sky.

His gut twisted inside him when the memory struck him, made a chill crawl slowly up his spine. He closed his eyes and shuddered at the chill, but opened them to the warmth of sunlit sky once it ebbed. He gazed defiantly out the window to the golden sun-soaked world, determination etched in his blue eyes. They were going to the city to make it right, and even though Raph's words of doubt still echoed in his head, there was no way he would ever turn his back to such sick injustice.

Someone had done that to this man. Someone had taken this human being, Edward, a person who once belonged to someone, had a family and a daughter, and turned him into a monster. The thought of it made his blood want to boil.

But there was something more to the story that he still couldn't grasp, and that's what scared him mindless. As much as he tried to push the thought away, it would come creeping back to stare at him- even uglier than before. Every time he tried to fight it, tried to reason, tried to deny, it still stood there like a plague sore, like the Reaper come to claim his dead.

The whole thing reeked of Bishop.

But Bishop was dead. He pushed it out of his mind again.

He didn't know, and he was just jumping to conclusions, scaring himself into a panic.

He sighed to calm his beating heart.

But still, his thoughts had a sharp and jagged edge. There was something wrong about the whole thing that made his heart race to think of it. Every time he thought it through, it just kept coming back to him time and time again- the feeling that this whole thing was bigger than it seemed, bigger than the wreckage of his damaged little family could handle.

Maybe they were doomed.

Maybe they couldn't do anything to help. A lot had changed, after all, and maybe it was hopeless, but all he ever _could _do was hope for something different. No matter how long it took, they would somehow find a way to make it right.

Raph had promised, after all.

The silence was quickly getting stale for Raphael, gnawing ever so slightly at his patience until it slowly turned obnoxious. April had turned on some boring-as-fuck talk radio station real low until the soft voices filled the place and after a while, seemed to blend together into one low, incoherent hum. He had tried to follow it in the beginning, listening to these pathetic middle-aged chicks babbling on and on about some stupid book or… was it a movie? He'd lost track a while ago when it all had turned to noise. All of it was trivial, and he just couldn't see how April even tolerated the stuff. None of it was real, and reality was what he had to deal with now.

He didn't have the luxury of living with his head in the clouds, because even if he tried, the world would drag him back down, and he'd fall even harder than before. He'd never had much of an imagination, or anything even close to a positive outlook on life. All Raphael knew was that he believed what he saw, and right now, what he saw was broken, ugly, the putrid fragments of a once whole life.

And every time he turned away from that, it only came back twice as strong, hit him that much harder until the ugliness was staring back into his eyes and he just couldn't look away.

He tried to train his eyes to stay glued looking out the window as the rolling hills of the countryside slowly melted to lazy suburban streets, but little by little he would suddenly find his gaze dragging him kicking and screaming back to Don.

Quickly, he snapped his eyes back to the window with a silent curse.

Why could he never look away?

Don didn't seem to notice, and if he did, he definitely didn't seem to care. He was too preoccupied with staring out the damned window with that glazed expression on his face, his shoulders slightly hunched as he leaned his head against the glass.

It had been so easy to ignore him all those months he spent locked inside his room, all those hours the name Donatello meant nothing but drawn shades, eerie silence, and waiting. Mikey had seen this before, and had kept his optimism none the less. But Raph, without ever even realizing it, had chosen to ignore it. He knew something was wrong. He knew his younger brother had been in a bad place for almost a year now, but he had no idea how to fix it, so it was easier to look away.

It had been almost too easy to put all his faith in Don just like the good old days, because back then, he had always been the brother to count on. Donny was the smart one, reliable, responsible and grounded. He knew how to take care of himself- and even better, he was stubborn as hell. He had seen Don battle with the best of them and win out every time, with some pretty good reasons to boot.

Raphael knew that there had to be very few people in the world that could out do him in the stubbornness department, and Don had always been one of them.

He had to smile a bit at the thought as he struggled to keep his gaze turned to the passing roadside.

But maybe that was the reason it had taken Don so long to find himself again- maybe that was the reason it had been almost a year. When Don did something, he gave it his all, and when he was determined enough, absolutely nothing could stand in his way.

If Don wanted to fix something, damn it, he was going to fix it. If he wanted to figure something out, he wouldn't sleep for three straight days if he had to. So if Don was going to angst, then fuck, he was really going to angst.

Raphael narrowed his eyes into a frustrated glower when he found his gaze had drawn back to Donatello again, tracing his outline from the back seat next to Mike- the expressionless frown that pulled at the corners of his lips, the way his breath fogged up the glass so steadily with each exhale, the amount of weight he had lost in his sickness and self-imposed hunger strikes- it was startling, heart wrenching, frustrating, infuriating.

And he hated it.

He hated himself for being mad at Don, cursed that familiar bubble of anger clawing at his chest, contradicting the unwavering urge to protect as his glance became an angry glare and he ripped his eyes away, stubbornly gluing them back to the window with a huff.

He hated Don for doing this to himself, for doing this to his whole family just when things were starting to get better. He wished he could just scream without the repercussions, reach out and shake Don up a bit and save him from whatever dark pit he had thrown himself into.

Donny had his head stuck in the clouds, and when that kind of thinking could eat you alive from within, it was time for a reality check.

Nothing was ever going to be the same. Yeah, he got it, he had been there- they all had. But Don had no right to drag this on for so long. He had no right to remind them day in and day out about everything that had happened, suddenly bent on locking himself away and slowly killing himself with despair.

It wasn't right, it wasn't fair!

Beside him, a small noise caught his attention and sent him reeling back to earth, suddenly hyper-aware of the viscous glare he had turned back unabashedly to burn a hole into the side of Donatello's skull. His fist was clenched there on his lap and he had to practically unscrew the stubborn clench of his jaw before he turned to find who had so rudely burst his angry little bubble.

Mike was looking at him, a bright flicker of irritation burning bright behind his eyes even through the gloomy cloud that had enveloped him since the morning's makeshift 'funeral'.

Raphael raised his brow and unclenched his fist in surprise, fought back the involuntary twitch of a smile threatening his lips. Mike had learned a lot about poisonous looks in a year's time, but it was still shocking to see such an angry glare burning behind those bright eyes that had once been only naïve.

He was still the same old Mike, no questions there, but he had done a lot of growing up during the early days after the war. In Raph's opinion, he had come out no worse for the wear, just a little rougher around the edges.

"What the heck is your problem?" came that familiar hiss that brought Raphael stumbling back into his forgotten state of mind.

That tone, that resentful note his baby brother had taught his voice to carry could now almost effectively match any of Leonardo's greatest lectures. It was enough to bring Raph's blood to a raging boil within his arteries.

He quickly snapped his eyes back to the window.

"Nothin'."

Judging by the sound of his voice, Mike was far from convinced.

"Why were you looking at him like that?" Mike demanded harshly in a whisper. Raph only shrugged without turning, but he could still feel his brother's festering glare upon him.

Glowering at the window, he huffed madly into the glass then snapped his head back to Mike.

"What!" he growled a little too loudly for a private conversation. He caught April's eyes in the rearview mirror then leaned closer to his brother to whisper, though his voice was still tainted with frustration and poorly bottled anger ready to burst.

"Don't you see him" Raph said lowly "he's turned all emo on us, and I'm startin' to get sick of it!"

Michelangelo pulled back with a sarcastic smirk and rolled his eyes. "Well duh, Raph, where have you been for the last six months? Some brother you are..."

"Shut up, Mikey" he scowled, turning fiercely back to the window.

For a moment, everyone sat in heated silence as April's Toyota wound its way back to the call of city streets.

"Just don't do anything stupid" Mike whispered harshly under his breath, arms crossed and staring straight ahead, a cold look of something fierce spread across his face.

Raph bit his tongue… literally, had to bite it back to keep it from betraying the sudden burst of poison resentment exploding in his chest, begging to turn itself to bitter words. Moving back to the city meant change- it meant things were finally starting to get back to the way they were. But this wasn't the plan. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. All that time spent at the farmhouse- that was just waiting for the world to right itself again. They were waiting for Don to tell them when he was ready, waiting for him to buck up and make that decision when he felt a little stronger.

Raph had never been much of a planner, nor was he the exact model of saintly patience, but this was something he had vowed a long time ago to stick to, because he knew it was what Leo would have done, and that's what was right.

But this- this was so far from right it made him sick. They were coming back, and things were still so far from normal he couldn't stand it. Don was supposed to snap out of this rut before they turned and left. He wasn't supposed to be forced to deal with this like walking on broken glass for the rest of his life. It wasn't supposed to end this way! It wasn't supposed to take this long!

But still, they were driving back to the city lights- something he had craved for so desperately for almost a year now. But this homecoming- this was just a nightmare. There would be no normal, no peace of mind, no great release of freedom or of victory in the end. No home, no headway, no nothing- Just three broken brothers, slowly growing sick of each other, on their way to leech off April a little more and try to save the unsaveable.

Why he had even let himself forget the plan without a second thought, let Mike drag him into this mess with barely any idea on how to help a man that was already dead and gone. He didn't have a clue.

But he knew that part of this had been his dumb idea too, and as much as he would like it, he couldn't place all the blame on Mikey's head. Part of this had been his own stupid impulsive recklessness keying in true to form, just adding to the mess, as usual. He had seen that girl on the news and tried to pretend it didn't faze him. He had seen that man, that monster, that animal lying dead in the middle of the woods and tried to make himself believe that it hadn't made a difference. But he had seen that look on Mikey's face that night- that undying need to help, to do something, to make it right, and it had spoke to him like a language he had known from birth.

Damn his stupid emotions.

Somewhere, deep beneath the wounds and baggage, that selfish, asshole exterior, he had that same unquenchable thirst to save the world, to make it right. Even if he couldn't do a thing- he at least had to try, if only for old time's sake.

In a way it had been refreshing, getting involved in something that had nothing to do with the impending fate of the world, no matter how hopeless their new dead-end crusade seemed to be. It was like an echo of the past- so uncomplicated and simple- simple vengeance, just the way it used to be- quick and painless- just the way he wished it would be.

So he didn't hate Mike for convincing him to leave, and he didn't hate himself for letting him, but he did have to hate Don a little for making these things more complicated than they had to be, for making them even harder than they seemed, for taking so long to just snap the hell out of it and move on with his life, for reminding him of everything he just wished he had forgotten.

But most of all, he hated how moving back to the city felt like they were giving up on any shred of hope for Don. It was like every mile they put behind them was bringing him only closer to the edge of ruin, sealed, locked, fallen away from grace forever.

But he couldn't just give up. He just- couldn't. It wasn't the way it was supposed to be. It just wasn't the way that things were meant to turn out.

He could feel that familiar twist, that gnawing, furious buzz like ten million insects spawning embedded in his skin, welling up to strangle him and swallow him whole. He knew he was about to lose it. Teetering on the edge of his once halfway solid composure, he had taken all that he could take. The walls to the dam were about to crack and shatter, and it wasn't going to be pretty.

In about two seconds, he knew he was about to do something very, very stupid.

"Raph!"

Raphael's shoulder and bandaged arm bumped the side of the car door when Mikey elbowed him hard in the side, his glare turning more venomous than ever. Raphael bared his teeth in a feral growl, throwing that same poison glare back right back at him.

Bring on the cracks.

"Piss off, Mike!" he roared, returning the jab with his elbow to the tender spot on his brother's bridge. "When are you gunna stop treatin' him like a fucking baby an' let him take care of his own damn self!"

All of a sudden, there was a clap of dooming, pregnant silence, so tense the air was almost tangible. Mike looked flushed with a mixture of hurt and rage, clutching at his side where he knew a nasty bruise would be there to greet him in the morning.

Even Don had snapped out of it for the moment, his eyes losing some of their helpless glaze, turning his gaze to Raphael, a wide-eyed look of shock and sick betrayal as their glances met, as if his own brother had just stabbed him in the gut, dealt the death blow, and twisted.

Glancing around like a cornered animal, that flutter of energy bursting inside his chest like the last fleeting moments before the fight, Raphael tried not to catch April's eyes in the rearview mirror. Instead, he fixed his angry gaze steadily onto Donatello and issued him his silent challenge.

_God damn it! Defend yourself!_

He was already starting to hate himself for this, but with the city skyline looming so ominously overhead behind the threat of the low setting sun, time was falling away from his hands. He just couldn't give up fighting just yet. Nothing could ever make him accept this as their future.

He had only one last chance for change before the world was etched in stone, and his brother, his life, his family- hope, was all lost to him forever.

"That's right Don!' he growled, poison barbed on every word, unyielding. "I'm talkin' about you. I'm getting so _fucking sick_ of having to be so damn careful around you, having to take care of you like some fucking _retard. _Your life ain't over Donny, so snap the fuck out of it!"

Heart pounding madly in his ears, he had to fight the urge to lash out violently. He wanted to hurt something, break the world into a million pieces if it meant he didn't have to feel like this- this disgusting sludge of fury and despair bubbling sick in the pit of his stomach- guilt and sorrow, unbearable regret.

But Don just kept staring placidly behind blank, steady eyes. He looked so tired, so worn, like the battle that was raging all around him had just begun and, he'd been fighting for centuries.

Raph was sure he hated himself for this, that warm, sickly burn of bile creeping up his throat told him so. But he just couldm't sit around and do nothing anymore. He couldn't let it end this way. Nothing could ever make him accept this as their future.

A stunned silence rang out once again, tainted only with the constant drone of the voices on the radio, but hung there just as heavy and ominous as the real thing. The air settled thick and choking. But still, Raph held his glare, that determined look of blazing hellfire that could light up all the darkened places he saw inside his brother, craving so hungrily to reset that spark behind his vacant eyes.

Don's eyes were as hollow and lifeless as that monster's now, and the yawning coldness as unbearable as the hands of death. Just looking into that gaping hole hurt, broke every bone, severed every fragile capillary, and slowly sucked the life right out of you. But Raph knew his only chance was to grit his teeth and refuse to turn away, face the coldness and the world without a trace of fear. He wouldn't turn his back this time- not now, not anymore, not when they had already lost so much, not when he was almost gone.

But Don never flinched, never dared to say a word. Those empty eyes, instead, spoke volumes. He was blank and hollow, walled off from the world he could no longer accept. But the look of betrayal was still there, etched across his face like scratches upon broken glass, those sickly black scars that wound their way across his plastron- the cracks that he felt could never heal, would never fade away.

April kept her eyes to the road as every word, every pause for heavy, spiteful silence hit her like a ton of bricks, like a clap of sudden thunder to shock and sink like stone. The quiet was unbearable and the tension was suffocating. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel until her knuckles paled and protested. He had to say something- this was his chance to step back into the land of the living. Everyone was waiting.

She bit down hard onto the side of her tongue and drove madly through the city outskirts by the harbor as if getting there quicker would make it any better. She raced through the impoverished tangle of slums and abandoned fisheries, processing factories with grimy, broken windows, a smattering of graffiti announcing boldly their profanities. It was almost painful to watch the world slathered in sickly grime and cracked concrete, crumbling to pieces all around her.

But this was how it had been since the guys disappeared. The city had an abandoned feel to it now- made unhealthy, weak, and hollow from the fear Bishop had instilled in it. She could still remember the sound of marching agents patrolling the street at night, in disguise as something good when she knew so much better, as the city slowly fell to lifeless dust.

She gripped the wheel harder and drove on just a little faster, knowing well that Don was way too much like that concrete going to ruins, turning to dust before her eyes. There was no sunset tonight- this was a grey day.

Hot anger erupting in his every muscle, Raph had to tear himself away before he did anything rash. It took every ounce of his will not to reach out and slap that stupid look off Donatello's face. Things weren't hopeless… they couldn't be, not when they had come so far.

"Don't you dare look at me like that, Don" he warned, jabbing a finger towards his brother's expressionless face. "You got no right to act like you've lost any more than the rest of us."

Don still refused to say a word. Raph caught Mike's glare from the corner of his eye but tried to ignore it. He looked like someone was pressing him as far away from the argument as possible, shoving him back into a corner.

Raph wrapped his arm around his stomach, clutching his side. The whole situation was making him sick, but it had to be done. It had to be dealt with. He narrowed his eyes and spoke with all the bitterness he could muster. "I blame_ you_ for reminding us. You're the one that makes our lives like this; sittin' around on our asses feelin' sorry for ourselves _every fucking day_, waiting for YOU. I'm fucking SICK of you tearin' us apart!"

Everyone jumped as the car lurched and swerved sideways, grinding to an unexpected stop. April, knuckles still white clenched around the steering wheel, had the scariest, most offended look on her face any of them had ever seen. She snapped off the radio and everything went silent.

"How _dare _you" she seethed suddenly, refusing to tear that murderous glower from Raphael's wide, shocked eyes. "How dare you even think of saying these things!"

Raph puffed out his chest and stared steadily back. "There's no way I'm lettin' this go on forever. Either he's going to snap out of it, or I'm going to snap him out of it myself!"

"Raph! Shut the fuck up! Stop being a dick and suck it up! You can't change this, you can't stop it just because you want it to! You had your chance, let Don have his!"

Raph peeled his gaze angrily back towards Mike who had his finger pressing accusingly into his bicep. He grit his teeth and growled.

"Oh look, Don! Now you got your fucking babysitters fightin' your battles for ya. Stick up for yourself, damn it!"

Slowly, Don turned his eyes away and mumbled something beneath his breath, refusing to meet his brother's challenging gaze. "You have no idea…" he trailed softly, letting the words fade before they could carry and betray him.

Raph leaned foreword, baring his teeth angrily, trying to fight back that putrid sick feeling that was ripping his insides apart.

"What was that, Don? That almost sounded like a comeback."

Slowly, Don lifted his eyes, stormy grey as the sky above, his voice growing stronger as a flash of anger flickered across his face but faded, replaced by a chiseled glare, cold as stone.

Maybe he would find the strength to stick up for himself after all.

His voice was full of spite and bitterness, malice laced in every syllable as he spat the words in his brother's face like he tasted something putrid. "I said, you have _no idea what it's like."_

Sitting back with a sarcastic chuckle and a spiteful grin, Raph glowered at his brother, whose eyes had again turned downcast and vacant.

"I have no idea? I don't know what it's like? Well excuse the fuck outta me, because I'm sure it's been just so much harder lettin' everyone wait on you hand 'n foot, babying you like you've gone fucking retarded! I had my moments too, Donny. I know exactly what it's like, so don't even _pretend _I don't have a clue! Just look at me, Don! Look at me!"

Raph held up his bandaged arm with a murderous scowl, the severed limb that ended all too soon just above his elbow. Don glanced up quickly into his brother's eyes just long enough to see the look of disgust written all across them like black paint thrown upon a canvas, leaving it stained, ugly, and scarred.

Maybe Raph knew better than most, maybe he did understand to the slightest degree, but Raph _knew _why he was suffering back then, he _knew _every bloody detail that had left him maimed. Back then, Don couldn't even dream of the things he had forgotten, even in the darkest corners of his nightmares. Nothing could have ever prepared him for the things that would come flooding back to him at night, sparked by the sight of glistening blood. There had been so much blood…

But Raph had always been strong, and Don he never could be. Never again.

Like Mike had said, Raph had his moment. Maybe it was his turn.

"You're tearing us to pieces, Don, and I can't take it anymore! This ain't who you are, so stop throwin' a pity party for your own god damned self and get offa it! The world ain't gunna give you pity forever and…"

Don's pulse was pounding in his throat, drowning out all sound, and suddenly, his lungs went leaden, fighting against his every breath as he drown in his brother's painful words. He snatched his hand around the armrest as his head swam and he swallowed it back.

_I… I can't do this now… not now. Please! Not now! _he begged the darkening sky, but mercy spared him nothing. His vision blurred and colors bled, the pounding concrete darkness.

_A shadow looming overhead, but his eyes were fixed, his feet glued to the concrete. Mike's voice in the distance, darkness- pain, blood, dark… dark, pain, weak cries like the ghosts of stillborn mewing babes… warm blood… pain, trembling, the crack of bone and sickly pops of his shell caving in, of his destiny. He choked on blood and darkness fell._

Breathing… hyperventilating… Raph was still yelling… heart pounding. He had to slow his breathing down before he passed out. He had failed, failed so much, so often, so far, forever. How could he ever be strong enough if the memories would never stop stripping him of all his dignity, of every last fragile shred of his remaining sanity? He fought hard against the sting of tears that stabbed behind screwed shut eyes, shutting away the crushing world. Blind.

"…shutting y'rself away like a fucking coward don't make it any easier, Don. God dammit!"

He could hear Raph's voice cutting in and fading out like bad reception on the radio. His eyes flew open when he heard the crunch of Raph burying his fist into the back of April's seat.

" If you got a death wish or somethin', just come out 'n say it, cause I'm sick of sittin' here waitin' around for you to do somethin'… What?!"

Raph was seeing red, consumed by everything that had been stewing there in the silence for way too long. Once it started coming out, he just couldn't stop, he couldn't bottle it back. He hated everything that was going on. He hated all this emotional shit. He just wanted it to end, wanted things to just go back to the way it was.

But life didn't work that way, and he knew it.

His vision cleared to snap his eyes to Mike who was staring back at him with the look of a frightened animal, eyes wide and panicked. He had yelled at him to stop and Raph had barely heard him.

But that look- that was enough to tear him away. It was the same look of sickly terror that he had seen on Mike's face that night under the moon in the shadow of a monster.

It was panic- thick, raw, bleeding panic.

"Let me out! I have to… I can't… Let me OUT!"

The world was running in fast forward as reality hit him like a rushing wave. Don was thrashing against the car door, April with hot tears in her eyes, screaming , pleading him to stop, trying to hold him back with one hand on his shoulder, the other on the steering wheel as the car swerved off the road and came to another grinding halt.

The sound of gravel under tire- god he hated that sound, it was like the sound of death and breaking bone.

Mikey was reaching over the back of the seat, trying desperately to hold him down, keep him from thrashing, clawing at the door miserably, hungrily, ravenously. He had tears in his eyes and panic so deep it was splitting him in two.

He had to get out…

_The crushing shadows, bleeding life, crack of bone and the sickly rush of death. Hellhound's eyes, glaring at him from the hollows beneath the cold, hard stone. It reached within him and touched, cold unlike anything he had ever felt before, reaching down into those dark black cracks where once, he had bled and fell apart and sound erased him. Only flesh and beating heart like a rhythm, beating of the death drum as blood rushed through his arteries and left him, pulsing, pumping, aching, breaking through the surface to leave him once again, break him apart in a way he could never be put back together._

_He was caught in the rush, the fleeting, deafening sound that swept the world away like hellfire, an epic, bleeding flood that filled his throat and drown him when he tried to scream, held him, crushed him in and tore him apart with iron hands. His lungs were leaden and he heaved, heart pounding, cracking ribs and ripping free from bleeding vessels- torn._

_He was standing in the wake of his own destruction, the rubble of his own demise, his own weakness, his own flesh and pieces of cracked shell, splintered bone beneath the marble, fingernails raking the unforgiving rock as he screamed and screamed, slowly drowning in his own ocean of pooling blood._

_He screamed and screamed until his throat could bear no more, till it cracked and bled like every single part of him. He thrashed against the crushing stone, the cold pressure squeezing the life right out of him, bleeding him dry, holding him back, slowly growing weaker like a flesh-eating disease until…_

He was face-to- face with his own reflection in the car door window, grappling with the door handle feebly, ferociously as if his very life depended on it. Fought against their pleas… the car was still moving- he could see the asphalt rushing by.

He screamed and choked…

…_but it only escaped him as a whimper, feeling the warm blood slowly growing cold around him, slowly growing numb…_

The door was open and he thrashed one last time. The car was stopped on the side of the road and April had tears in her eyes, but he didn't care. His heart ached, but he didn't care.

He wrenched open the door wider and burst free into the cold fall air, shaking, stumbling down the embankment to the concrete bridge soaked within the twilight, drawn back into the shadows that always hungered to swallow him whole.

He trembled as he swayed, tried to catch his breath, tried to close his eyes to the flood of images that tore apart his brain matter until it was nothing but a gory mess festering within his skull. He almost wished he could claw his eyes out and make it stop, end it all for good.

Weakly, he swayed and stumbled again, caught himself with his palm spread across the cold concrete. Paused, breathed.

Behind him, he heard a car door slam and footsteps.

Maybe now it all would stop. Now that he was free, maybe he could just be numb.

Shakily, he turned his back to the cold stone wall and slid slowly to the ground, watching his own hands tremble, someone's shadow cast by the new twilight moon, the sound of soft approaching footsteps in the withered roadway grass.

He wrenched his eyes shut and palmed his face, listened to his madly beating heart as the cries of demons echoed in his head like scars, battle wounds and caked on blood, his brother's eyes behind the mask of muddied desert sand- monsters.

Monsters there, with human eyes.

No matter how he tried, breathed, fought to slow his heart, the cascade of twisted imagery and blending memories flashed like lightening behind his eyes. He could barely tell the difference anymore- was it dream or was it remembering… was it imagined, or was it truth?

Either way, he couldn't bear to take it.

He could feel his brother's eyes upon him, watched his shadow linger on the edge of the other, darker shadows beneath the old overpass bridge. His desperate breath echoed off the walls and mingled with the moonlight.

Mikey was there, looking unsure, watching silently as he shifted from one foot to another, then stepped inside the darkness to face his second monster.

Donny almost wished he wouldn't, because this- this had to be a disease, and he couldn't see his baby brother infected by it too.

His heart ached for the immune, for April, but Mikey had come, had seen, and would face its true nature for the first time- the monster he had become.

But he had to fight it, thrash against it, lash out, strike, get just as sick of this rut, this miserable storm cloud plague as Raphael was. Snap out of it, battle it, refuse to let him tear him down and take his family with him.

But he was weak, and unshed tears were stinging there behind his eyes, betraying every fault, every horrible, twisting scar the eyes could see but the soul could feel much greater. He trembled.

He wasn't strong enough for this. He never had been.

He couldn't save himself.

With shaking hands, he fumbled, thick fingers in the sewn-in pouch once reserved for only shiruken, found the bottle he was looking for. His only way out to quell the pain, the only way to silence those voices for just a little while.

Because April understood a lot, she had given him the pills to ease the pain- but that pain she knew, the physical, visible hurt, he had learned to deal with by now. The stiff, twisting ache of scarred bones and weakened muscles that never quite healed the way they should have been- he could live with that. But the real pain, the other kind that tore guts to ribbons with talons like katana blades, hungrily cracked open his chest and wrenched free his heart from his bleeding, living ribcage- that was the true pain, the only pain he couldn't learn to fight.

His life, his tortured, pathetic, unlivable life, brought to ruins at his feet… and all he wanted was to be numb.

So it had come to this… sitting under an overpass bridge, grappling with the guilt, the memory, the intangible pain, and pills… his miserable, weakened, pathetic escape.

He poured two into his hand and swallowed them dry, screwed back on the cap and tucked the bottle back for another day, another downfall.

He leaned his head against the wall, weak, the heavy weight of growing guilt, humiliation, waiting for that familiar medicated numbness to take him in.

It had finally come to this.

"I thought you were done with those, Donny."

Mikey's eyes were full of worry as Don turned his head slowly to meet them, coveting the fragile life and brilliance time had returned to them. He hadn't known that brightness in a long time. He had nearly forgotten how it felt.

"I thought you ran out."

His voice was far from accusing, only laced with concern. He was so far from understanding the weight of what his brother had actually just done- taken medication for all the wrong reasons. He was still naïve.

Don felt dirty for it, felt it sit there in his stomach like lead, festering, illogical, unnecessary. This wasn't him, this wasn't something his old, rational self would have done.

And that was the only reason Mikey didn't even dream to speculate why he had done it. It was Donatello, he never did anything without a reason.

But Don was starting to fear that his entire sense of reason was slowly ebbing away along with every last scrap of his sanity.

He sighed and studied his brother's sky blue eyes visible even in the shadows of underbridge grey-soaked twilight, the glowing young moon behind the silver mist of clouds threatening a drenching early autumn rain.

Don turned his eyes away and studied his empty hands.

"This is different" he murmured without looking up.

The sound of his brother's footfalls, the soft shuffle and crunch and gravel, and Mike was beside him, leaning his shell against the concrete with a heavy sigh, staring into the growing shadows as if searching for an answer. After a long pause, he spoke.

"Don't let Raph get to you" he said softly, watching the chill breeze catch a pile of new fallen autumn leaves, making them scuttle across the damp gravel and cracked pavement ground. "He's just… he doesn't know what he's saying. He has no idea what he's talking about."

Don swallowed before he could respond, starting to take control of the tremors, the furious beat of his pounding heart. "And exactly what part of his little speech wasn't completely truth, Mikey? Raph says a lot of things, but he never lies. Never."

Mikey didn't respond. His throat worked noiselessly and that spark in his eyes never faded, but still he remained silent. He just couldn't find the words, couldn't make them sound right in his head, so he said nothing.

"You know he's right."

Mike's mouth opened and closed, but still, the words refused to escape him. Instead, he shook his head furiously.

"No… no he's not, Donny" he said finally once his throat was no longer leaden. "It isn't your fault… and… you know we'd wait for you forever if we have to."

"But you shouldn't have to" Don said quickly in a snap, a sudden trace of anger lacing his voice, the muscles in his shoulders tensed. "I'm doing this to myself, and I'm doing this to you… to whatever's left of our miserable family. I… I'm just making you guys more miserable, just… making myself miserable. I'm just holding you back."

"Then don't."

And there was that spark again, that naïve little glimmer of hope that made Don chuckle bitterly deep in his throat. It made him feel blacker, darker, more miserable than ever, like he should cringe like a vampire before its light.

His stomach twisted with the guilt and his face immediately flushed, something burning like acid clawing at his chest. The weakness, the pressure, the anxiety, the panic, the unshakeable, hideous ghosts of his memory and demons of him imagination- he could feel them lurking there behind it, pressure building up like a dam about to burst.

He was just waiting for that first dooming crack.

"I can't" he said firmly, voice tainted with a mix of guilt and desperation, something sick and hot twisting in his gut. "I…" He hesitated. " Don't you know what I've become? Don't you… "

When he turned his gaze, Mike's brow was furrowed with a hard line of concentration.

"Don't I what? Don… if Raph _was _right about one tiny little thing back there, it's that you pretend like none of us can ever understand what's going on with you. You got to know we understand. We've all been through bad times. We fought this through together, remember?"

Don's fingers started fiddling with the pebbles in the dust, tracing lines amongst the rubble in the ever-growing dark. Softly, he sighed.

"But I didn't. I… forgot, somehow."

His voice was almost too soft to understand, but Mike knew every word. He almost didn't even have to hear it. It was something the heart could never forget.

"You were sick, Donny, and… we were all scared and… changed. But you were never changed. You… you stayed the same somehow and…" Mike's blue eyes were drawn back to his, swimming with the tears unshed, pooling in the silver light of the filtered autumn moon. "I still don't forgive myself for not telling you, maybe then you wouldn't have taken it this hard but… you're my big brother, Donny. You can fight. I know you can. You're stronger than this and I guess I…. still believe in you."

"Then don't. I failed, Mikey. I fail you guys every single day I live like this, and if you keep trying to pretend everything is going to just suddenly snap back to normal, you're just going to get yourself disappointed. I can't even piece a single rational thought together anymore. I can't even… I can't even control my own mind. It's all just turned into these thoughts and flashbacks and… the panic attacks are getting worse. I don't even know what's setting them off anymore."

Incredibly, Mike was smiling. Don blinked, then looked away as his brother spoke. He couldn't bear that. The smile, it was too bright.

"Dude, you have no idea do you?" he said with a chuckle, refusing to let anything drag him down. He had gotten calloused enough over the years to learn some impressive tenacity.

Don didn't look up from the gravel dust swirling in the wind at his feet, drawing slow lines in it with his fingertips. "About what?"

Mike made it sound like it was almost a joke. "About how far you've come. You know they said you'd never walk, and here you are. Look on the bright side, bud. It really isn't that bad!"

"Oh yeah, look at Don" he snapped back viciously "the walking, talking boy wonder. God, it's a miracle he can even perform basic bodily functions!"

Pushing himself up off the wall, Don stood and stormed to the other side of the now darkened bridge, arms hugging himself anxiously as he angrily kicked up the dirt. He glowered at the ground. "Am I really that pathetic?"

Behind him, Mike was on his feet, reaching out. He tried to place a reassuring hand on his now seething brother's shoulder.

"Come on, Don. Is this what all of this is about? You think you're pathetic? Don, you're the strongest, most un-pathetic person I know!"

Don snorted in disgust with himself, refusing to let his muscles uncoil. "I'm so weak you have no idea" he said sharply, trying to tear himself away. But Mikey wouldn't let him go. Instead, he found himself reeling around to meet the determination in his brother's eyes. He let out a breath sharply, gasped another one in.

"Seriously, Mike. I… I'm starting to wonder if it's even worth living like this anymore."

Mike's eyes widened as a lead weight sunk deep into the pit of his stomach. His let go of his brother's shoulder before his brain could even tell his fingers to move.

_Did he… did Don just… no!_

He shook his head in disbelief as a sickly feeling swam in waves inside his stomach, the stab of his own thoughts, his dark realization.

_Was Don thinking… no!_

He couldn't cry, he wouldn't cry. He could only watch his brother try his best not to stumble as he limped his way up the steep embankment to the idling car, waiting in the twilight. He pressed his lips together and shook his head again.

_No .No no no no no NO!_

It was the only answer he could come up with as it screamed forever inside his head, picking through the weeds back up to the car, back up to the city were new things lay and wait.

He thought it would be better, but slowly, sickly, he was starting to realize.

Things were only going to get much, much worse.

A/N:

So yay! I updated (If anyone is even still out there after over a month. My readers, do you still exist?) I hope this made up for the wait. In my opinion a mediocre chapter. A whole lot more was supposed to happen, but I decided to save that for later chapters instead of making it any longer than it already is. I would really appreciate your thoughts, ideas, and opinions. Thanks for hangin' in there!

Much Love to you all,

Willowfly


	7. Chapter 7: Open Wounds

Chapter 7: Open Wounds

The night had fallen across the trash strewn streets as the late autumn sun had dipped behind the skyline buildings. By the time April's car pulled up to the crumbling stoop of her worn apartment building, blackness had swallowed up the alleyways. The golden pool of headlights congealed with the dark pierced by lamplight, sickly compared to the silver fingers of starlight, but the early autumn chill was more solid than ever.

As soon as the tires ground to a stop, the car doors flew open like the first gasping breath after birth. The last half hour had felt like drowning, locked in the throes of a stifling, pregnant silence. But the fragile air was tender, weightless and brittle despite its gripping chill. Hollow- it could never fill them with what they craved. It bore with the coming winter only cold and silence. It could do nothing to break the tension that buzzed in the back of restless minds.

What had happened at the bridge, Mike would rather just forget. So he didn't move as quickly as Don, already racing up the old cracked stoop, head down and silent like a ghost. He just couldn't feel as distraught and wound as Raph seemed to be. Instead, he gazed lazily out the car window, his breath fogging the glass only slightly. But he still felt numb ever since that moment, like none of it had a chance to take hold of him yet. So he sat, waiting for his vision to clear enough so his own reflection wouldn't get in the way.

Behind the glass, life seemed like just an act. The street, the lamplight- a stage, and everyone he ever knew- its players. Casey pulled open the old wooden door, his lopsided smile quickly fading into surprise as Don pushed past him, silently swallowed by the dark.

Raphael was stalking the shadows just out of reach of the hazy street light. When the darkness spat him out, he was battling invisible demons. Something like guilt, grief, anger, fear played with the shadows on his face. He and Casey talked noiselessly, mouths forming words like the old silent films. But Mike didn't need to hear it. He didn't want to hear it. When he and Casey disappeared into the alleyway next the old worn building, he knew what they'd be doing for the rest of the night- forgetting.

It was times like these that Mike could see just how much they shared in common. Amnesia almost seemed like a blessing. At the moment, it felt like he could sell his soul just to forget.

He breathed a sigh, letting his shoulders fall and his breath uncurl silver in the cool night air that had crept its way into the idling car. It was the first time he'd seen it since the last winter's past. It was like the breath of ghosts. "I'm sorry about this April," he said breathlessly, waiting for her, but it seemed like the chill in the air caught her too.

She sat there for a while after they disappeared, hands clamped white knuckled on the steering wheel, but finally she cut the engine and the street went quiet. Mikey, waiting with those patient eyes- they caught the streetlight from her rearview mirror.

She cracked a smile, but it wavered. "Oh, come on. This is nothing! You should see it when Robyn and I have at it. It's funny, really," she sighed, giggling nervously as she flung the car door open and stepped into the street. The old grim fingers of the chill tangled in the loose strands of her auburn hair.

But she was fooling no one. She was shaking, and Mike could see something in her eyes that told all the words she didn't speak. Every inch of her spoke the helplessness she wouldn't dare to show. She was invincible, the rock. How could she ever be so weak?

With a breath, he opened his door and followed her out, shuddering against the wall of sudden cold. But before he could blink, she had her thrown her arms around his neck, her eyes damp and her skin warm upon his shoulders. For a moment, he was trapped, eyes wide and frozen in shock but quickly, he forgot it. He drew her in closer, held her like she needed to be, and wondered- maybe she hadn't cried about it since the last time. If that was true, it had been way too long.

It didn't last. It felt like only a second until she pushed herself away and was blushing there in front of him, frantically scrubbing the tears from her eyes with the heels of her hands and shivering just as enthusiastically. She flashed a nervous smile, her cheeks nipped pink by the cold, but her heavy gaze still shone like oceans in the lamplight. She breathed quickly and turned away.

"Um… I'm sorry Mikey. I didn't mean…" She said hoarsely with her back turned, clearing her throat as she opened the old Toyota's trunk. It groaned, needed oil. "Do you think you could help me carry this stuff in?"

"Sure," he said casually, as if he had already forgotten, pushed it into the back of his mind so it couldn't haunt him anymore.

They gathered their things in silence, just a few bags and Raph's half finished case of beer was all that was left of their belongings, just trivial things they had gathered over a year of silence.

But all of that was over. The city meant new beginnings, and silence was buried in a monster's grave. Yet, he cringed when he saw those bags, that half finished case of beer. They were like reminders- little notes and memories come back to haunt him. It made his stomach do a funny turn inside him even after he had tried so hard to numb it.

Nothing ever came easy.

If that car ride back to the city had taught him anything, it was that the wounds were being reopened, and holding this in was only going to make it fester. Raph had been brave enough to finally tell it like it is, maybe he had to show some courage too.

He couldn't forget. Not this time. Right then and there, Mike promised himself he wouldn't.

"I should be the one who's sorry, April," he said quickly, turning his eyes to the ground as he opened the old wooden door, waiting for her to slip by, a bag in either hand. "You've done so much for us and now you let us move back in…"

"Mikey, please," she grinned from atop the stairwell, catching his eye as the dark played with the shadows and lines that spilled across her face. Even though the tears were gone, her lips were pursed into a frown. She looked so much older than he remembered. Quickly, he decided- a year of this could make even the most beautiful worn. "I've told you that I don't mind. If you think I'm even a little sorry about inviting you guys back here again, do you think I'd do it in the first place?"

She stopped in the doorway, letting the cold air in, but no one seemed to care.

"Well, no…"

She turned, making her way up the old wooden stairs. "Plus," she continued, "if you want to find more about that monster, we need to get a hold of that girl you saw on the news, Katelynn Freeman. Casey's been filing through the old police records whenever he can, and he found that she lives just a few blocks away. If we didn't want you guys to be here, do you think we'd do all of that?"

"I…"

Mikey hesitated as he reached the top of the ancient stairway and stopped. April had the door swung halfway open, propping it with her hip. But before she could disappear, she turned, and winced.

"Wow, I'm sorry," she breathed, stepping into the brightly lit kitchen. She set her bags down on the white ceramic counter and reeled to face him, brushing the hair from her face. "That came out really bad. I didn't mean to make it sound like that. It's no problem, really!" She smiled sweetly. "I practically lived with you guys at the farmhouse anyways. This is just easier for all of us. Plus I know you guys would rather be here than stuck out there, especially with those monsters lurking around."

"Let's just not apologize anymore, okay?" Mikey said finally, returning her nervous grin with his trademark sideways smile. April choked on something that resembled a laugh.

"Agreed," she beamed, picking through the bags with sudden curiosity. "What's in here anyways?" she pried, the mood in the kitchen almost physically lifting. Even the shadows seemed a little lighter.

"Dude, no!" he yelped, snatching the bag away so fast she didn't even have time to undo the zipper. "Don't you know not to go through a guy's personal stuff?"

"Personal stuff, huh," she smirked, snatching at the bag, but coming up empty handed. "Like what?"

His eyes darted guiltily around the room as he hugged the old green duffle bag closer to his plastron. "Um, like, private… reading material?" Those last two words came out sounding unintentionally like a question and he mentally kicked himself for it. It was more than obvious April was not buying.

"Porn," she said firmly, suddenly stone-faced.

Mike grinned sheepishly. At the moment, he was trying his hardest to look as cute as possible without looking utterly pathetic in the meantime. But at this point, he figured even looking pathetic may win him some extra brownie points. When April had that look on her face, it couldn't hurt.

Still, she looked unimpressed.

In cases such as these, Mikey decided honesty was the best policy. He hugged the bag tighter and pouted. "It's… porn. But I'm twenty years old and it's mine! Mine! You can't take it away!"

Her starkly serious expression cracked before she could utter another word. She had to literally bite her lip to keep herself from falling into hysterics at the stupid look on Mike's face. He looked utterly horrified and so painfully pathetic. She just had to laugh. "Don't worry, Mike. I know better than to get between a guy and his porn," she laughed. "But I do wonder how a giant turtle gets his hands on something you need an ID to buy."

Mike gulped. She was using that look on him again, _that look _that made his insides squirm. Uh oh. He released his death grip on the duffle bag and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "I… uh… found them?" He winced. There goes making things sound like a question again. He'd always been an awful liar.

April quirked an eyebrow and snatched the half empty case of beer on the counter, holding it up like a game show hostess. "And I'm guessing you guys found this too."

Mike could only try his luck with another one of his award winning smiles. Oh, he felt stupid.

April sighed, opening the fridge and placing the case inside. When she turned back, she shook her head slowly, almost defeated. "Casey loves you guys to pieces, he really does. But for some reason he feels like he needs to buy you guys stuff like beer and _reading material. _I don't even want to know how much of the money I sent him over with for groceries turned into beer and… god knows what else._"_

Mike shrugged placing down the duffle bag. "Have you _seen _our refrigerator? Yeah, putting Raph in charge of grocery duty was a bad idea, but I thought it would give him something to do instead of sit around and mope all day."

There was a pause, like a breath of air and sudden realization. They caught themselves staring at each other suddenly from across the kitchen, almost bewildered. Life… it hit them like a wall of bricks, and here it was, changing again.

Mikey took in a sharp breath to break the silence, turning to take a seat at the kitchen table. "Speaking of things Casey shouldn't be doing… is it _okay _that he's rifling through old police records looking for that Kate girl? 'Cause I have a feeling it's not."

April rounded to the other side of the table, something like defeat written across her face for the second time that night. "Well, you know Casey. Like I said, he'd do anything for you guys, and when Raph told him about the monster, he got all excited about it. He said it would be just like old times, you know?"

Mike was busy staring at his hands folded on the table when he nodded. "It is kind of like old times, isn't it," he murmured, almost a whisper, but he didn't look up. "Yeah, that's Casey for you, but I'd hate for him to lose his job before he even gets started. I mean, he's still in the academy. He's like… a fake cop- which, I still can't even believe he's a _fake _cop. That's weird enough, dude." He lifted his eyes to her and smiled.

April grinned back, brushing the hair from her face with the back of her hand. "Oh trust me Mikey, we've been over this and, well, I think I've decided that after all the rules I've broken in my life, what's it going to hurt to break a few more?"

Her grin turned devious and Mike gave out a little chuckle. "Oh, you're a badass April. I always knew it. Even when you try to play mommy dearest, you aren't fooling a soul."

She snickered a little at that. "If you think that's badass, wait 'til I tell you my surprise," she grinned. "Casey got a hold of her number from an old record and… I scheduled an interview for tomorrow! We can get some real dirt on what's going on. Also…" she trailed, sliding out of her seat to grab a stack of newspaper articles off the kitchen counter, unceremoniously plunking them down in front of Mike. He fingered the pages gingerly, reading each headline.

"Murders," she said quickly. "Gruesome murders that have been increasing in number over the past year. And when I mean gruesome, I mean these killings… it's almost as if they were made by-"

"-monsters," Mike interrupted, eyes widening without taking his gaze off the headlines.

"Yeah."

"Do you really think…"

Her eyes were cold, dead serious. The look she was giving him made Mike's spine tingle.

"There's been talk about aliens, monsters roaming around the city. I've heard the rumors, seen it on the news. People are starting to panic, and… The world you guys left behind four years ago is way different than what it is now. Bishop had the entire city living in fear of alien invasions, mutants coming out at night and snatching sleeping children out of their beds… I've heard it all and people believe every word. People are less likely to be skeptics after the things Bishop broadcasted to all to us. Like the Lair, the museum he built around it, it was all a ploy to get people thinking they really needed a savior, and he was the one to count on. Now that he's gone, everybody's paranoid again. They know monsters exist, and they're not afraid to jump to conclusions."

Mike fingered an especially disturbing article clipping. Its headline: _Twelve Year Old Girl Found Decapitated in New York Alleyway. _He shuddered and put the paper down. "And do you think they're jumping to conclusions now?" he breathed, peeling his eyes away.

"No."

"This is big," he breathed, letting his shoulders fall. Suddenly, it felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on them. Tiredly, he rested his head in his hands.

After a short silence, April's expression quickly changed. "Mike, are you ok?"

He lifted his eyes, flinching as if he'd just been startled awake. "Huh? Oh yeah, I'm fine. It's just…"

April's face shadowed concern. "Just what?" she pried.

Mikey sighed, turning his eyes back downward, but then forcing them back up again, as if locked in a battle with his own free will. "April, I need to talk to you, about some things Don said to me tonight… at the bridge."

Leaning backwards in his chair, he could peer into the living room and see where Don had planted himself on April's couch, staring blankly into the blue glow of the television screen. It was easy to tell he wasn't actually watching it.

Mike lowered his voice. "He really scared me back there."

Concern was etched across her face so deep at that split second, it startled him to see how quickly her expression could harden. It was times like these that he realized just how close her friendship was with his troubled brother. She'd been his savior a thousand times over, getting him to eat, come out of his room for at least little while, talk- every time she did it, it was like a small miracle. No one else could get through to him like April could.

It was that same closeness that made Mike wonder- how much of the situation didn't he know? For the longest time he thought he could handle it, thought he understood things at least a little bit. But the more distant Don became when April wasn't around, the more he began to doubt himself, the easier it became to ignore everything below the surface of the issues and pretend things were getting better.

But at the bridge, he was soon reminded, things could get so much worse.

He couldn't hold it in any longer. Before he could breathe, he finally burst. "Has Don ever talked to you about killing himself?"

He wanted to clamp his hands over his mouth the second he said it, the second her eyes went wide and he knew his were too. Just the thought of it was like a bolt of lightning struck the room. The look on her face was answer enough.

She leaned forward on the table over top the scattered newspaper clippings. All of that was forgotten now. "No, never. Wait… what did he say?" she gasped, an air of panic about her as her eyes wandered into the living room. All she could see was the television's glow, but she knew he was there.

Mike's eyes had wandered to the doorway too. He prayed Don wouldn't overhear. He couldn't afford to make things any worse than they already were. "Um… I dunno… just something. It worried me, but… it's nothing." Really, he just wanted to believe it was nothing.

Pushing his chair away, he was halfway across the kitchen before he said another word. He spoke as he swung open the fridge door. "I… I think I'll go see what Raph's doing," he said, grabbing out the half finished case of beer. A peace offering.

April didn't move from her seat. She just watched him with that same worried look on her face. "Ok, Mikey," she sighed, eyeing the beer in his hands, "but… if you hear anything else, tell me, ok. I'll do the same."

Halfway onto the fire escape, he nodded her a feigned smile and shut the window closed behind him. He stopped to watch her through the glass a little longer before climbing up the ladder, mentally kicking himself at every wrung.

He promised himself he wouldn't forget. Out in the street- he promised. But all of this was getting way too real. He was finally seeing that things hadn't gotten any better since the day he convinced himself they had.

He had to forget. Just one last night, he had to forget it all.

---

_A/N: So I've been doing some major reconstruction on a bunch of my fics. This chapter is short, so I apologize. I love writing long chapters, but with school, work, etc. plaguing my life, they just take far too long to complete. _

_On that note, a fairly uneventful chapter, but chapter eight is nearly completed, so I hope it will fulfill your expectations._

_Much Love,_

_Willowfly_


	8. Chapter 8: Carpe Diem

_A/N: Here it is without further ado. I'm so sorry for the long wait, but after my computer crashed, I lost everything I had written. Rewriting this has been a long, disheartening process, but alas! I have prevailed. Thank you all for your patience and enjoy!_

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Chapter 8: Carpe Diem

The night was cold, but the beer made it tolerable. The familiarity was almost more comforting than it should be as he sat on the rooftop ledge, peering down into the interrupted night. But car alarms in the distance, lights, traffic, bodiless voices drifting on the hollow air was far from a disruption. Growing up in the city, they were more like breathing.

There was no doubt about it. He was glad to be back.

No matter how hard he tried to kill it, Raph couldn't let himself forget what it was like to sit on a rooftop taking in a New York City night like a lungful of air, the chill breeze biting at his skin and the lamplight pouring in warm pools across the streets. He couldn't forget that electric feeling, charged with movement like a live wire, watching life pass him by, oblivious. He'd missed it more than anything. He'd missed the never ending buzz of movement like a beehive sitting on an oak branch, the hum of traffic, the smell of exhaust. Some nights back at the farm, after he'd lost his fight with sleep, he'd stare up at the plastered ceiling and think of car alarms.

For a year, he missed that comfortable silence, just sitting there with his feet dangling into nothing, letting his mind wander around for a while. That was probably the best thing about sitting there with Casey, the part he'd missed most but never would admit it. There was never any need for words. The not-quite-silence was enough.

Nights like these, all there was left in the world was the cold air and warm beer lighting a fire in your gut, the sound sirens far off in the distance rushing closer like a lit match, eating up the pavement with its light show playing off the building sides, then fading just as quickly as it came. Life, sounds, and voices that somehow never said a word, bleeding together into one long, beautiful noise.

His eyes caught the glint of the beer can he'd been nursing for what seemed like forever, and almost laughed at how much he could let himself think when he got the chance. Back at the farmhouse, he'd convinced himself the city wasn't as much a part of him as he thought it was, that the dreams would stop if he'd just stay gone long enough. It was all he ever knew. He didn't know how to think of anything but lights and smog and brownstone. But being back, finally back where he belonged, felt like a whole new kind of breathing.

Bringing the cool can to his lips and taking a slow swallow, he swore he'd never leave this place again.

Some nights at the farmhouse, he'd remember the sounds. During rainstorms, he'd wake up and think he'd see pipes instead of plaster hanging over his head.

Maybe they'd find a Lair, someplace like his dreams sparked by the sound of water rushing through the gutters. Maybe being home would help them pick up again.

But for now, he'll just pretend. It was easier to think that way in this type of silence. Just the beer wrapped in his fingers, the sound of dreams and car alarms wandered aimlessly through his head.

Yeah, it was easier this way.

They hadn't talked much, he and Casey, even after Raph had dragged him up here without a word. But he didn't have to explain it. Casey knew that look on his face said there was a problem that only warm beer on a cold rooftop could fix, at least for a little while. But even before, Case didn't drive out of town to visit much. The Academy took up most of his time, and Raph found himself alone more often than not, mostly by choice, since Mikey's attempts to get him to lighten up never stopped. Then he couldn't tell if he'd missed the company, or if he'd be just fine sitting alone on that musty couch forever. But sitting in the dark with Casey for the first time in what felt like years only reminded him how much he'd forgotten. Somehow, they drifted.

"So, uh…" Raph winced at the clumsy way his words tripped out of his mouth. Breaking the silence hurt like peeling a scab off a fresh wound. "How's life been treating you?"

Casey ripped to consciousness like he'd been tangled in a daydream, his empty silhouette jerking its head toward the sound, faceless. "Haven't really been doin' much lately," he sighed. "The Academy mostly, sorting things out with April… she's thinkin' of moving to a bigger apartment, but I dunno." He rocked back to leaning on his elbows, letting the loose bits of gravel bite into his skin. "I feel like I'm gettin' old."

Raph cracked a quick grin, bumping him loosely with his shoulder. "You were old a long time ago, gramps. You just figuring this out now? "

Casey snorted something like a laugh, and the air caught his breath, turned it silver like a puff of smoke. "Hey now, I still do my fair share 'a hell raising. I ain't an invalid yet."

In the dark, Raph threw him a look. "Prove it."

"Ya want me ta prove it? Damn, Raph. You lost faith in me that quick? Some side kick you are."

"I ain't your side kick, and I'm still waitin' numb nuts," Raph said lowly behind his grin.

"Ok, ok. Huh… so many things I could tell ya 'bout my greatness…" he mused, kind of milking the whole 'deep thinking' thing. Sometimes, Case could be way too overdramatic. "How 'bout at the Academy. Sarge says I coulda been his best recruit if I wasn't such a wackbag, all 'cause I dislocated this guy's thumb when we were just 'sposed to be just disarming."

"Way ta go," Raph snorted. "You always gotta remind people you're deranged, dontcha?"

With a grin, Casey gave him a one-shouldered shrug. "That's just how I roll. Can't have people forgettin' the name."

"Like they could," Raph quipped, taking a swig from his almost half-empty can in the comfortable silence that followed, pierced by the staccato of crunching aluminum. Blowing out a breath just to see it show, he thought about going back inside, but decided against it. "I'd give it another week," he said finally, finishing off the can and crushing it against the concrete.

"A week? That's it? So you really have lost faith in me, huh Raph," Casey muttered in mock disbelief.

He shrugged. "Once they figure out you been goin' through those files, you're screwed. You know that right?"

Case couldn't help but smile, but ran a hand nervously over the back of his neck without thinking. April knew what he was doing, and she seemed all for it for some reason. Ever since she came back from the farmhouse rambling on about monsters in the woods, she'd been clipping newspapers like she used to the years after the guys disappeared. So it wasn't like she cared that he could get fired. It was a big part of the reason he joined up anyways. But still he felt like he had a reason to be nervous. Maybe he really was getting old. "Yeah," he said after a while, "but April's fine with it, so I'm fine with it. If I get fired at least it'll be for a good reason and not 'cause I did something stupid. We got a lot of good info. April's even convinced the kid to let us interview her tomorrow."

"Hm, great," Raph said, wringing his empty hands with a glare. For some reason the thought of seeing that girl again- whether he'd really ever get the chance or not- sent him reeling back to whatever he'd said to Don earlier. He knew he shouldn't feel guilty about it, but he couldn't help himself. It's like he was programmed to shelter the kid, no matter how pathetic he'd been acting lately.

"So you gunna tell me, or what?" Casey said suddenly.

Raph flinched without a second thought. His mind was drifting to the thought of that second beer and the promise he'd made to Mike not too long ago. But damn, it was hard to resist. "About what?" he said gruffly, turning his gaze back to the lights of city skyline, planted in the dark like grounded stars.

"Do I gotta ask you again?" Casey said, pausing long enough to finish his beer off and chuck it over the side, adding to the beer can cemetery they'd made out of the alleyway.

"No," Raph said sharply, grabbing for that second beer once he finally lost the last of his resolve. He cracked it open and took a slow gulp before answering. "Just got into some stupid fight with that invalid brother of mine. Said some things I shouldn't have. The usual."

For a moment, Raph didn't think Casey would say anything, but once he did, he wished the guy would've just kept his trap shut. "How's he been, anyways? April says he's still in pretty rough shape, huh? It's been two years and he-"

"He's fine!" Raph snapped, more viciously than he'd intended. He instantly lowered his voice. "I don't want to talk about it, ok?"

"Sure."

There was a lot of things different about the silence that followed. The tension didn't last long, but it was there, snapping like a rubber band and leaving Raph glowering into the aluminum of his second half empty beer can. Casey wasn't exactly known for his tact, but the guy did know how to drop things when he needed to. It was an admirable quality, especially for a human. His brothers, on the other hand, weren't usually as accepting. But that's what you get when you live too close to one another for way too long. People can't help but pick at the scabs.

That is, at least, how he remembers them- concern overriding logic. But he doesn't like to dwell on that kind of change.

Something snapped his attention away after that stewing heat was robbed away by the cold. The rattle of the old iron fire escape told they wouldn't be alone for long, and the silence wouldn't wait around for company.

Unsurprisingly, it was Mike, looking unsure of himself, holding the half-empty case of beer housed in battered cardboard Raph recognized from back at the farmhouse. No one said a word when he shuffled across the graveled concrete with an uneasy type of smile you could see even through the dark.

"Uh, hey guys," he said nervously, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "I didn't mean to interrupt or anything… "

At this point, Mike was instantly regretting ever showing his face on that rooftop. Down in the kitchen with April it seemed like a good enough idea. He needed an out and that was his way. Fresh air called to him like a siren song, but this was uncharted waters. Setting down the wilted case like a peace offering next to Raph on the ledge, he was thinking of turning back and forgetting the whole deal. He'd told himself back on the street that he'd do a better job facing his problems instead of running from them like he always did, but at the moment, forgetting this mess sounded better than good.

He ran his hand over his neck again, an action he had to think little about, and finally gathered up the courage to speak. He somehow felt like he was turning around and challenging himself, going against a whole slew of beliefs he'd formed since the day Leo died. But the night itself felt like a hypocrisy, so he couldn't see the harm. "I can't believe I'm saying this," he murmured lowly, taken aback by how _responsible _he sounded, "but I _really _need a beer."

He half expected Raph to give him a hard 'no' and turn him away, and he'd be fine with that. They'd drank together when they were younger, when they used to live their days with nothing but a sense of reckless abandon. Looking back at it now, Mike felt like he'd gotten too level headed for his own good. They both have. But their sparring match in the meadow proved that even if they were battle-worn, they could still act their age, if they tried. Maybe tonight was just another chance to prove it.

Mike had to blink a few times at the quick way Raph patted the cracked ledge beside him and mumbled a gruff, "Yeah, don't we all." As he crossed over to the ledge that overlooked the alleyway gaps Raph had always been so fond of, he ran his hands over arms for warmth, but mostly to mask the nervousness he still couldn't shake.

But it wasn't just the rooftop that had him walking on eggshells, it was the monsters April had talked about, like the one they'd seen in the woods that night, and the gruesome murders written off as pit-bull maulings, or what Don had told him about life being something not worth living. It was a concept he just couldn't wrap his mind around, and he'd rather not try. Still, the thought sickened him.

He murmured a "thanks," to Raphael who handed him a lukewarm beer, and didn't take the time or courtesy to nurse it, downing it as fast as his throat could work it. He couldn't worry about things like self-control. It'd been so long since he'd lost it, and the sheer stupidity of it was like welcoming back an old friend. He'd had enough responsibility for one night, maybe an entire lifetime.

"Hey now, champ, we weren't planning on makin' an evening outta this," Casey said from somewhere in the dark. Mikey couldn't see where his voice was coming from, so he didn't bother peeling his eyes away from the streetlight casting long shadows down across the boulevard. Still, he shrugged, and finished his first can, grabbing for another one.

"What's got your shell in a twist, goofball?" Raph said, jabbing his brother in the side with his elbow, but Mike only swayed, never tried to retaliate. For now, he was too preoccupied with his beer.

"Don," he said mournfully, turning the aluminum in his hands. "He said something to me that I just can't get out of my head." He was planning on saying more before Raph cut him short with bite in his voice.

"'nough said," he grunted, chucking the can he'd just crushed over the side of the building. "Who says we _can't_ make this an event. We got enough beer ta last the three of us the night, if we wanted ta."

Mike assumed he'd been talking to Casey, but he hadn't been more grateful in his life for the silence that followed. As Raph cracked open his third, Mikey finished his as quickly as his first and second, eagerly reaching for his fourth by the time he'd started to feel his muscles loosen. But he wanted to unravel. He was done trying to convince himself he needed to let go, because holding it in for so long was killing him. Damn it, he deserved it.

Somewhere around number five, he started humming just to fill the silence. Casey and Raph were so weird the way they could just sit around and stare at each other forever and ever and never say a word or even like… yawn or move or anything. Or maybe they were just liked being boring, being _slugs. _Mikey chuckled a bit into his beer can, thinking of slimy things and started humming something like the Superman theme song mixed with Gilligan's Island. _Now that would be awesome, _he thought dreamily, stifling a giggle that earned him a hard look from Raphael. He took to sipping his beer again with both hands like a kindergartener._ Instead of making everything out of sticks and coconuts, they could just use, like, heat vision, or x-ray vision, or… other stuff… yeah. Genius. Coconuts could be, like, Kryptonite. Lex Luthor could make some killer piña coladas that could take over the world._

He couldn't stop himself from laughing out loud the second an image of Lex Luthor in a colorful sombrero serving up tequila shots crossed his mind. As soon as he caught Raph giving him the death-glare, he snorted back a chuckle, spilling a stream of beer down his plastron.

"What the hell are you laughing at?" Raph said, grinning, unable to hide the amusement in his voice.

"Just thinking... about stuff. Like… Superman? You guys are so boring, you know that right? Especially you, Raph, all you do is slug around all day long like… a slug… and do _nothing._"

"Is that so?" Raph chuckled, trying to pull the weathered case away from Mikey's reach before he had a chance to notice. He had that look in his eye that Raph remembered, the look that said he'd probably had enough about two beers ago.

At least he'd be entertaining, as long as he didn't knock himself off the roof. Luckily, Mike was a pretty graceful drunk given the circumstance. His only real flaw was that his brain seemed to get connected to his tongue even more than usual and he'd get _giggly _over just about everything. Currently Raph was preparing himself for a night of fart jokes and Mikey Patented Wisdom™. Luckily it looked like he'd be indulged in the latter for now.

"Yeah!" Mike said adamantly, a little louder than he needed to, though he couldn't exactly remember what he'd been agreeing to. He only paused a moment before continuing. "So I was thinking…" He could have sworn he heard Casey groan from where he was sitting, but he pretended not to hear it. Stuff like that never fazed him anyway.

"Really now," Raph quipped with a laugh in his throat.

"Uh huh," Mike nodded vehemently. "Yeah, like, how do they get deer to cross the road only at those yellow signs? I mean, I saw 'em everywhere by the farmhouse. Like, how do they know? Can you train 'em like dogs? And how come they don't put crosswalks down for 'em?"

Yeah, this will be entertaining.

"'S just cause the deer that don't cross there end up eatin' pavement," Casey said, voice deadpan.

Mikey stopped and turned, eyes widening tenfold. "What? No!" he shrieked, utterly horrified. "Deer don't eat pavement anyways Ca-sey Jones."

"Sure they do," Casey said grinning widely. "Once you plow 'em over with your truck. Now _that'_s a bloodbath."

"You… you hit one? But they're so _pretty. _How could you… hey, where'd that case go?"

Raphael froze, watching his brother grope around in the dark. "Mike ya really got to slow down," he said earnestly. "You're getting all loopy on us."

"Yeah, yeah. You're right," he sighed, squinting in the dark, but quickly giving up the search. "It's not like I should forget… I'm overdoing it… yeah. I can't forget about it. Life don't work that way. That's what you always say, right Raph? I can't come up here and think about deer because of all- all this _shit _happening all the time."

Mike visibly deflated, stared blankly at his hands folded in his lap and remembered the chill in the air. "It's not like I should forget that Don used to be ok, at first. It's not like I shouldn't think about how he used to be _fine. _He told me he was fine. Gave me this whole speech about curves he could handle, talked about _Leo. _And now I can't get it out of my head." He took in a shuddering breath. "It's not like I can pretend that I don't worry too much. Don says I worry too much. I worry about the monsters… what the hell are we gunna do if there's more of 'em? April's got all of these articles cut out and… one bit you Raph," he said sadly, gesturing to the bandage on his brother's arm. "Remember the last time, back when Don got hurt? What if it's the same thing? What if you turn into a monster, Raph? I- I can't lose another brother. I _really _don't want to."

There was a pause, just the sound of the city night buzzing around them like insects. In the distance, Raph was sure he heard a car alarm.

"Wow," Casey murmured breathlessly. He just couldn't find his hold on any other words.

Raph found himself just as wordless, watching his breath roll in and out like a fog. His lungs stung. "I don't know Mike," he said slowly, choking on the words that felt like lead in his mouth. "That's a lot to forget."

"Yeah."

"You want another beer?" He asked with a sideways smile, pushing the case closer. Mike only nodded, took another can, cracking it open.

"You know," he said finally, finishing off his last beer. The whole world was spinning and he felt like a pile of mush. Damn, it was fabulous. "I been thin-kin' summore."

"What's that Mikey?"

"At-chally, a lotta things," he said, sitting up suddenly and cracking a smile, his eyes bright again. The kid had been slumped up against Raph's shoulder for a while now, getting a little more than glazed. "First off, I love you, dude," he laughed, throwing his arms around Raph's shoulders. Raph had to stifle a wince as his brother squeezed his injured arm. "You're the best big brother _ever. _You know that, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure Mike," Raph winced, peeling his brother's arm off his bandages.

"Awe, ain't that cute," Casey cooed.

"Yeah, cute," Raph growled, fighting desperately to peel his brother away. But before he could, Mike was on his feet wide eyed and gesturing wildly.

"Ok, ok, ok, ok. Next thing," he crowed. "Ok. If a fly din't have wings, it'd be called a walk, right?"

"Um… ok. Sure, Mike," Raph snorted. It was weird, he couldn't really remember how much he'd let Mikey drink, but it had to be enough to get an elephant buzzed by now.

"You know if you say a word enough times it starts losin' all meaning, right?" Casey teased. Mikey only turned and gave him a blank look.

"But 's geeeenius, right?"

"Right. Makes perfect sense."

Mikey threw Raph a skeptical look before continuing. "Ok, so. Next thing. What if ya take this uhh… Chinese… uh… no. No wait! This is good!" He fumed, brow knotted in concentration, throwing his hands in the air when Casey and Raph started chuckling. "No, no. So you take this- this… guys, listen to me!" He pouted, folding his arms over his chest stubbornly.

"You know you're _so_ far gone, right?" Raph snorted next to Casey, stifling a laugh.

"Nuh- uh. Yer just bein' mean," he whined. "But you gotta liss-en to this one, guys, cause it's really good."

"Ok, we're listening, goofball," Raph said, fighting to keep a straight face.

"So. You have this uh… oriental guy. Yeah! An oriental guy… and you spin him around a few times. Does he get disoriented?"

Raph just couldn't resist the urge to literally smack himself. "I think that might be the dumbest thing you've ever said. Or, well, at least in the top twenty."

"Puh. Yeah right," he breathed, tottering back over to the ledge and half toppling next to Raph. "You loved it and you know it."

"Sure I did," Raph grumbled, grabbing hold of the edge of his brother's carapace before he could fall off the roof. "But maybe you should sit somewhere else, Mikey, before you eat pavement too."

"No, no, no," he protested, shaking his head vehemently and throwing his arms around Raph again before he had time to protest. "I wanna sit nexta my bestest big brother ever. That's- that's you, Raphie," he grinned.

"Jeez, he really loves ya, _Raphie,"_ Casey teased, his back leaned up against a nearby wall. Raph could only give him a scowl under his brother's loose embrace. "Didn't think he'd get that far gone this quick."

Finally prying himself free for the second time that night, Raph threw Casey a look. "It's _Mikey, _Case. You didn't think the nutjob would lose it after six beers?"

"Nah, that's not it," Casey scoffed, "just don't want April ta find out, yanno? Then she'll figure out about our heatin' vent stash… or our air conditioning vent stash…"

"Yeah, I get it. I'll keep nimrod on his leash. But if she finds out… I ain't taking the blame. It ain't my fault she's got you whipped."

"I ain't whipped."

"Sure, whatever you say Casey," Raph taunted with a sideways smile, using the same tone he'd just used to humor Mikey's 'words of genius.'

And then suddenly, the silence found them again. It broke like a black dawn, smothering the night in a cloak like thick gauze, and Raph was taken aback. Sitting there on that rooftop, beer in hand and Mikey's head on his shoulder, he could have sworn he was sixteen again, and there was a whole lot more right with the world. In that moment, nothing mattered, and it wasn't just because the beer made him numb. It was like a weight on his heart had physically lifted and he could finally, finally breathe for the first time in years. The fight, monsters in the woods and in the alleys, the Academy, the Lair, beer stains, lights, car alarms, voices, rain rushing through the gutters, waking up to sewer pipes, manholes, scars…

It was his life…. And maybe none of it mattered anymore. Maybe it meant the world. Either way, it was his to hold, his to keep, to fix, piece together, fight to protect, to promise, to give. All of it was his.

They were so close to finding it, so close to keeping his promise, so damn close to living. Moving back wasn't a mistake, wasn't a risk they were forced to take, it was a jump start, a platform, foundations in the making.

Somehow, things just felt like they were heading in the right direction.

"Raphie…" Mike mumbled into his shoulder, "I think Don's missin' out."

"Yeah, you're right, Mike. You're righter than you know."

"No, no. That's not what I meant," he said quickly, lifting his head off Raph's shoulder so his blue eyes shone even in the dark, cracking a mischievous smile. "I've been thinkin' again."

"Ugh, not another one, Mike. Dontcha know the meaning of comfortable quiet? 'Cause there is such a thing, yanno," Casey groaned.

Mike leaned forward to get a better look at Casey, and Raph found himself latching onto his brother's carapace again before he had the chance to unceremoniously kiss the pavement below. "No, you see. When I came up here I was sad. I sat up here, had a lot of beer, and now I'm not sad, right?"

"Okay…"

"So Don's sad down there, and we're happy up here, so why not bring Don up here and he can be happy!"

"Mike, I don't think that's such a good idea…" Raph' trailed, losing his grip on his brother's carapace as he stood. "Really, I don't think you wanta bring _that mess _up here and ruin our fun, do ya?"

"But it _is_ fun," Mike nodded stubbornly, "and dontcha think Donny should get some fun too?"

"Well yeah, but… Ok, whatever, Mike. Go ahead, do what you want."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute," Casey interrupted, "I thought we were gunna keep this quiet. Or, yanno, hidden from April. Seriously, if she finds out, she's gunna put me in AA."

Raph snorted at the image of Casey awkwardly standing in the middle of a room full of drunks, giving the 'hi, my name is so and so' speech. Now that's rich. "You are _so _whipped," Raph muttered under his smile, just in case Casey hadn't heard him the first time around. "Plus, he ain't that drunk. April's probably asleep anyways. That, and if we don't let him, we'll never hear the end of it."

Casey didn't want to budge. He really didn't. It was like April's voice had recorded itself somewhere in his brain and it just wouldn't stop nagging, over and over and over again. For what it's worth, it probably would have been better for April to fit him with a shock collar. At least he wouldn't hear her lecturing in his sleep anymore.

But this time, it was Raph's fault. If he got caught, he had someone to blame. He wasn't exactly sure what it would be worth pointing the finger at Raph when it was his secret stash of sin to begin with, and he had _let _Mikey drink his body weight in beer and then released him into the apartment. But Raph was right, after all. If they said no, they'd have to listen to him whine for the rest of the night about how he'd 'put a cramp on his genius' or whatever. So he let him go.

"Ok, whatever. Just don't break anything, alright?"

Casey could barely watch as Mike's face lit up like a match. With a wide grin and a nod, he started tottering towards the fire escape, drifting to the left then back again before getting a hand on the cool metal. "And try not to break your neck while you're at it."

As if on cue, the second Mikey's head disappeared from over the building side, there was a loud crash down below. Raph and Casey were up in a flash, preparing themselves to see the carnage that once was Mikey smeared across the pavement.

"I'm alright!" Mikey crowed, gracelessly rolling over onto his hands and knees, staring at the gridded fire escape floor as if trying to solve a great mystery. "I freakin' love bein' a turtle sometimes."

"Let me guess," Raph grumbled without expression, his voice deadpan, "you got _disoriented."_

Using the rail of the fire escape to pull himself upright, Mike swayed for a second. "Puh, yeah," he huffed, rolling his eyes even if Raph couldn't see it. "Why else would I be down here?"

"Um, to get Donny?" Casey offered, earning himself an elbow to the side.

Michelangelo grinned widely for probably the tenth time in an hour at the sudden revelation. "Oh yeah! Be right back."

By the time he'd disappeared through the window, Raph was giving Casey a sideways look, something like a worried half-smile clung to the corners of his mouth. "I thought you were worried about him goin' in there," he said flatly, but still with some amusement. "If you just kept you yap shut, he probably woulda forgotten why he was down there in the first place. I was hopin' he smacked his head hard enough or somethin'."

Casey grinned sheepishly with a clumsy shrug. "Sorry man, wasn't thinkin'."

"When're you ever?" Raph mumbled, letting his crossed arms fall to his sides. "But it's not like he's gunna convince braniac to come up here anyways," he breathed, "I think the kid is too afraid of living ta do anything but sit around and feel sorry for himself."

"Yeah, maybe."

About ten minutes after Mike had disappeared, Raph and Casey had taken their spots on the roof ledge again, about ready to call it a night when someone slid the window back open again, two shadows pouring out and up the iron ladder. "Look who I brought!" Mikey crowed, slugging his arm around Don's neck so heavily he swayed, a lazy smile plastered on his face.

"Congratulations," Raph said bitterly, turning back to glaring at the street below, "you managed ta wake the dead."

Don had already half forgotten how he'd even gotten there or why. The last thing he could remember was falling asleep on April's couch with the tv on, then being unceremoniously shaken awake by a very giddy, very drunk Michelangelo. His tired eyes blurred and he tried to blink the fuzziness away, scrubbing at his face with his palms when suddenly, Mike was elbowing him hard in the bridge. "Come on Donny, say hi to everyone. We're gunna have some fun!"

Don winced instinctively at the jab, even though the pills he'd taken before falling asleep did a good job to numb it. "Whose bright idea was it to get Mikey drunk?" he sighed, running his hand tiredly over his face again.

"It was his own damn idea, Donny," Raphael snapped, obviously still harboring ill feelings since the car ride there. "Did you come up here to lecture me or join us, 'cause the kid's got a lot of bright ideas and if you're just gunna stand up here and be miserable, you better get back in the house right now 'cause I can't take it anymore."

"Nuh uh!" Mikey interrupted, vehemently shaking his head as he took Don by the hand, leading his brother closer to the ledge where they sat. "Donny's come up here to be happy. Right Donny?"

"I-I don't know, Mikey," he stuttered quietly, eyeing the beer Mike was trying to hand him apprehensively. "I shouldn't…"

"Ah, just give it up Mikey," Raph snapped, "if he don't want to play, he doesn't hafta play. Just let him go ahead, be a waste of space if he wants to. Not like his goddamn life means anything anyways."

"Raph, really, I…" He swallowed, catching Raph's glare even in the dark.

"You what?" he snarled, "you're too weak? Yeah, I know all about this complex you been workin' yourself into. It got old about eight months ago, and I'm damn sick of tryin' ta protect you from yourself. You're healed, Donny. You can walk again. You'd think you'd be happy, but no. So go ahead, blow us off and go rot in your damn room, but count me out. I ain't playin' this game anymore."

As his brother spoke, something so strikingly unfamiliar was bubbling inside him, something like rage, frustration, a type of heat Don had never known he could possess. "No!" he screamed, the loudest, strongest syllable he'd said in years. "Do you really think I want to be this way? Do you really think I'm not weak because of this? Well that's where you're wrong, Raph. I _hate _this. I hate this so, so much."

By the time he was finished speaking, his voice had grown quiet again, but his hands were trembling and his heart was racing, something he hadn't felt outside of nightmares in a long, long time.

"Well look who finally got the guts to stand up for himself," Raph quipped, bitterness still laced within his voice as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Just take the beer, Donny."

Silently, against his better judgment, Don took the beer from Mikey's hand, cracked it open, and drank. Before he could stop himself, the can was empty and his stomach burned. He placed the can down on the concrete like a badge of honor, a silent challenge.

"I've had enough of this," Raph announced with anger laced in his voice. Don's eyes were feeling heavy. Pain pills mingled with the beer, slowing down the world. "Let's get outta here," he mumbled to Casey, pushing to his feet. "We can go find some info on those 'pit bull maulings' April's been goin' crazy over."

"Fiftieth and Main was the newest. You sure you wanta go there now?" Casey said unsteadily.

Raph threw a look over his shoulder where his brothers slumped together against a brick wall. "Oh hell yes," he hissed.

In a blink, they were gone.

The whole world swayed into a rush of blending color as he clambered to his feet, watching their shadows disappear over the building ledge. It felt like a dream. Again, he was alone, crushed beneath the deafening silence.

Mikey must have fallen asleep sometime during Raph's speech, and as he passed, his sleeping brother didn't flinch even as Don prodded him with his toe, frowning softly when he was only rewarded with a murmur. Don knew there was no way he could carry him down. He'd have to wait till morning to try again.

He could feel the earth spinning, sounds blending together like one beautiful noise. The loose stone bit hungrily into the soles of his feet, a sensation he had never dwelled upon before. But then again, there was a lot of things running through his mind like traffic in the dark, things he had dreamed about, but had never thought of in waking until now.

Raph was right. He'd always been right. Living like this, spiraling down on this steady decline, falling more and more when he had at first lived his life like a blessing, had taken his life like a gift, the product of sacrifices. He knew it was true. He was throwing it all away.

And then, he thought of her, moved on from the rooftop, leaving his problems behind like shedding old skin. He'd slip into something warmer, something different and exhilarating like the visions woven through his dreams.

Stepping through the threshold, the warmth of the apartment wrapped around his chill-struck skin like the enveloping darkness. Sound swam, the ticking grandfather clock in the corner, the flicker of light from the television screen turned down low until the voices hummed a dull murmur. The floorboards creaked and he sidestepped them from memory, slipping across the cool kitchen floor like a shadow. But the sound, it was unbearable- the maddening thrum of his pulse beating his chest, drumming his ears from within.

He was at war.

Trembling hands, quickened breath, he turned the words over in his head once more- one more time until he was sure the light slipping from beneath her bedroom door was real, was calling him like her scent, lavender. He remembered, remembered that night sitting there on the porch, the taste of coffee ice cream, her standing on the stairs with her hands on her hips, catching him before he could fall. She was always catching him, always, even when it felt like every inch and every ounce of the world was waiting for him to finally, finally fall.

He was falling, falling into something unforeseen, a blind drive, striking like a match in his gut, hazy with sleep and adrenaline like Vicodin mixing alcohol, he was sleepwalking, sleepwalking to her. She drew him in, like a breath.

His trembling fingers traced the door, grains, scars like lightening to match his own, a barricade between them, spanning the gaps that held them so close, so far, so hungrily.

Raphael had told him he was a waste.

He had told himself this was not worth living.

He had promised April that it was.

How different she made him, how thrillingly wonderful, beautiful, forbidden like fruit from the tree, like life and temptation he couldn't resist, not any longer, not anymore. From this day forward, he would live or die, have her, devour her, or perish.

It was meant to be.

His muscles, his skin, his mind had turned electric, letting go of logic. With a trembling breath, he pressed his palm to the marred door, found the cool knob with the other, and turned, turned another page.

She sat there in an oversized T-shirt, her hair swept clumsily from her face framed with the light of the lamp by her bedside, a book cradled in her fragile hands. Her emerald eyes met his, and he froze, swallowed, crossed the room, every step, every inch, closing the gap.

"Hey, Donny," she smiled, radiant. "I thought you fell asleep."

He smiled, just slightly, growing wider, more intoxicated as he sat by the foot of her bed. He watched her long, pale legs expose themselves as she pulled away the blanket, swung them over the edge to sit beside him. He examined her feet, her beautiful, fragile little feet, each nail painted luscious crimson.

"I did," he said dreamily, his eyes still unfocused, lazily tracing the curve behind her knee, his hands aching to touch them. They looked soft, so soft. "But I woke up, just now. I woke up."

Her hand was on his shoulder and his face flushed with a maddening heat. Her touch was cool, porcelain, just as he remembered. He could smell the rotting wood of that old porch swing. "Are you feeling ok?" she blinked, bringing her face, her eyes closer to his, and finding him.

Before she could recoil, he snatched her dainty hand in his and held it gently, cradled it delicately. Brining a worn finger over her knuckles, across the back of her hand, so soft it was intoxicating. He breathed her in- lavender. "I've never felt better," he hummed, bringing her hand to his cheek. She fought the urge to pull away, but stared at him strangely, perplexed. "I've been doing a lot of thinking, April. For years, all I've been doing is thinking."

A wave, rushing over him, running like a shockwave up his spine, up and down, pulsing through his veins like panic, fear, something he's wanted for days and months and years right there, sitting right there beside him with warm lips and a cool, fragile hand clasped in his. Her eyes, her hair, it was amazing.

He leaned in closer, breathed her in-lavender.

"Donny… what are you doing?" she whispered, pulled away, eyes widened, panic, maybe. Pink lips, beautiful, delicious, soft lips so close to his. Closer, he came closer, she drew him in, her warm breath curled, quickened on his cheek. Her small hand trembled in his own.

He closed his eyes, his lips met warm flesh, pressed into a hot mouth as he whispered, just prayed, kissed so hungrily his bones ached… "Seizing the day."

* * *

_Shout out to my betas for this chappie, the brilliant Angelfeatherwriter and the fabulous Pink Cloud Assembly. Also a shout out to Tauni, who is one of the main reasons I haven't given up on this fic yet. Love you guys!_

_Much love (again, because it's habit), _

_Willowfly_


	9. Chapter 9: A Bloodless Morning

_A/N: Thanks, as always, to Pink Cloud Assembly and Angelfeatherwriter for looking this over. Chapter 9 and 10 are actually meant to go together, so the second part will be published as chapter 10 by tomorrow. Enjoy!_

_**Warning: **__This chapter contains graphic violence.  
_

_

* * *

_Chapter 9: A Bloodless Morning

There was no telling how long the night had been crawling along by the time they reached the crime scene tape, lining the old alley abandoned like a fresh dug grave. The caution tape was blocking off the entrance, catching in the breeze, a hollow wind dancing with lazy stained newspapers. But Raphael had his jaw set in the way that said he wouldn't listen to empty warnings. Leaping down from the building ledge, he lifted the tape and ducked beneath, Casey following close behind.

"Not much of a crime scene, huh? " Casey frowned, following Raph into the shadows, kicking up some stones that scuttled their way to brick wall ahead. In every corner lay scraps of weathered paper old alleys tended to collect. Everything was sodden from the last soaking rain. An oily puddle sat like blood along the cracks in the pavement, staring blindly at the sky. "Think it happened about a week ago," Casey whispered, fighting back a shiver. "They cleaned most of it up by now."

Raph was busy sifting through the rubble. He crouched low and overturned a scrap of wilted cardboard glued wetly to the ground before asking, "So what was it this time?"

"Pit bull mauling, just like the rest of 'em. Too bad nobody can find the damn dogs."

Raph slowly straightened, keeping his back turned. "April's right. That pit bull stuff is shit."

"So you don't think it's dogs tearin' these people apart?"

"No." Raph said darkly, walking over to the back corner of the alley where it dead-ended with a crumbling brick wall, slick with ruddy roof runoff. There, a pile of filthy newspapers clung to the damp corner by a rusted upturned trashcan. Hollow aluminum scraped the cracked pavement as he overturned the rusted lid.

"So what's your first clue?"

"Well, for one," Raph began, fishing in his belt for a tiny flashlight and flicking it on. He ran the weak beam across the crumbling brick walls. "Don't think any pit bull could make these."

Casey gaped. His spine had turned electric when he saw the scars, scrabbling upwards towards the roof above, the long, deep marks of claws. He ran his hand over the closest one, crawling up the wall beside him. "Damn."

"Second," Raph growled, holding the pallid light to the metal lid he'd leaned against the wall. "I don't think any kinda dog has a bite like that." He nodded to his bandaged arm. "But I know somethin' that does."

Casey nervously swept his sweat soaked hair from his forehead. "Then why the hell would the cops think this was fuckin' dogs?"

Raph shrugged, snapping off his flashlight and tucking it back into his belt. "New York cops, man. They're a whole different brand of idiot. I mean, they did accept _you._"

Casey snorted, throwing a glare over his shoulder. His fingers were still tracing the gouges in the brickwork. "Ha ha, almost forgot ta laugh," he bit, turning back to kicking through the garbage pile he'd been picking through earlier. "But seriously. Do ya think they're _that _dumb. Like… dumb enough to think somethin' that could climb up walls an' bite through trashcan lids is a dog?"

"I dunno," he said quickly, "I ain't exactly the thinkin' type, but somethin's tellin' me maybe they're hiding something. Like… April was sayin' how scared people got of aliens and shit when Bishop was controllin' the city. Maybe…" Raph frowned deeply, rubbing his forehead in thought. "Either they got somethin' to hide or… somebody's keepin' them silent."

Without warning, the turtle kicked off the nearby wall and disappeared to the darkness above, leaving Casey alone in the alley. "Yo! Whatcha doin' up there?" He shouted up to where Raph's shadow had vanished four stories overhead.

"The marks go up, nimrod," he grunted, reappearing on the ledge in time to jut a finger over his shoulder. "You comin' or what?"

"Yeah, sure, I'll get right on that," Casey grumbled, looking for some form of a fire escape. He quickly found himself slipping back under the caution tape and rounding the front of the building to find it. "Why can't you freaks ever run _away _from the creepy claw marks like sane people?"

Raph didn't bother offering Casey a hand while he clambered onto the roof. Instead he fished back out his flashlight and shone it in his face. "Don't tell me you gone soft on me now, gramps."

"Hey, put that thing away will ya?" Casey groaned, shielding his eyes with his hand. As soon as he could see again, he was drawn immediately to the long scrapes drawn across the tarred concrete. "In your dreams," he said, turning with a wry smile, catching a familiar glint in Raphael's eyes.

"Then I guess you'll just have to prove it, huh?"

"You're on."

A flash of teeth and they were off, feet pounding the concrete, following the gouges. One leap followed the next from rooftop to rooftop, spanning the canyons the buildings made in great divides. The trail would disappear at this speed if it wasn't for Raphael. He had this pattern memorized like it was breathed into him at birth. Run, feel the ledge, leap into a moment of weightlessness, and find the earth again. He kept his eyes to the ground.

The scrapes were sporadic, scarring a rooftop here, some brickwork there, disappearing for a moment and then back again. If he hadn't known he was following a monster, he would have thought the trail was meant to be disorienting. There was no pattern to it, just random dodges, scrapes and leaps that would drift eastbound and head north again, leading them in irritating circles. But they were headed into Queens, closer to the docks, and even though his muscles were starting to ache from miles of traveling at this pace, Casey was still keeping up. He couldn't slow down. Catching Case's eyes as they jumped to the next ledge, he smirked, and pressed on.

Then suddenly, the trail froze. They had reached the old harbor docks. The windows of the abandoned factories were cold and lightless for the time of night. Large reaching slabs of concrete stretched out into the yawning maw of the sea. It was the last building before the drop like a sheer canyon face, an old cannery long forgotten to the memories of fishing barges teeming with anchovies. Raphael stood on the edge of the rooftop, the concrete crumbling in a dusty cascade down to the solemn ground below.

"This's it," he said slowly as Casey came to a halt beside him. The air was ice-bitten and weary, a wet chill clinging to their bones. "Trail ends here."

"So what do we do now?" Casey breathed, cheeks flushed with exertion and cold.

Sitting down, then sliding off the rooftop to find the window ledge, Raph motioned Casey to do the same before slipping through the shattered window. "I guess we check it out."

Inside the place was dusty and decrepit. The floorboards of the upper level creaked and moaned underfoot, missing in places where the gaps plummeted to great abyss. The lower levels were engulfed in darkness. The windows below had been long boarded and sealed in their disuse, and even the filtering light of the hazy night sky couldn't guide their way.

They froze, taking in the moans of the old wood framework, the hiss of the chilling breeze seeping in through rotting woodwork and the twisting jungles of rusted machinery. The floorboards heaved and sighed like breathing. The entire place felt alive.

Casey swallowed hard, the lump in his throat working audibly to loosen the tension there. "This place's fucked up," he said in barely a whisper and began following Raph down the metal stairs. Every step he took echoed off the desiccated walls no matter how hard he tried to silence them, taking his decent into the engulfing dark.

When they reached the bottom, he was blinded. Raph flipped on his weak flashlight, sweeping the pallid beam over the cobweb-infested crates and factory machinery. Motes of dust sparkled like an eerie snow, caught dazzled by the beam. The air smelt like death.

They wandered aimlessly for a while, picking their way through the catacombs of rusted parts and bird droppings. The flashlight beam caught stale heaps of crumpled newspaper, rotten bird carcasses with only bones and feathers to remember them, silent pools of black water that blinked with sightless eyes.

The beam swept back and forth like a weightless pendulum, shedding glimpses of countless years of rotting decay. Casey followed closely behind, wearily watching the blank, living shadows. That is, until Raphael stopped, the flashlight beam frozen in a pinpoint to the floor. No one said a word to name what lay spattered there in a gruesome trail. There was nothing that could tell them otherwise. It was blood.

Slowly Raph traced the thin trail of scarlet drops, one by one like a sickly rain, his heart pounding in his ears. He swallowed and took in a breath to silence it. The trail continued.

As they walked on, the trail thickened into a bloody smear, painted like a brush across a canvas. Something blood soaked had been dragged across the putrid floor, and Raph was almost too afraid to find it. Almost.

He swallowed and walked on, trying to calm his breath and heart beat in the way his father always taught him. In this deafening silence, he had to hear it. He had to hear the stone walls breathe, every groan of the wooden floor above, a rat rifling through a nest of torn paper, and a lone, quiet sob.

They froze, the tiny beam stuck in its position on the floor, catching the edge of a clotting black pool. The smell of sweet iron and death was enough to let their stomachs twist, the metallic taste of panic running hotly down their throats.

"Raph," Casey whispered, nearly mouthed, "what the fuck was that?"

Raph had no time to answer. He was thinking of a plan. Here he was with Casey, standing there, no plan, no weapons, at the dead end trail of a nameless monster. The smell of blood felt like a bubbling sickness in his stomach when he heard the rustling of movement in the corner. It was dark, so dark, and all he had was his weak flashlight beam.

The figure that dwelled beneath the eyeless shadows let out another almost silent, strangled sob- a moan like that of an animal. His hand shook slightly as he raised the flashlight beam.

She was huddled in a corner, her back arched, facing them, wracked with silent sobs. Her long hair was matted and caked in a sickening tangle that cascaded down her back. When the beam met the back of her filth-encrusted head, still, she didn't turn. The woman just kept crying into her open hands.

Stunned, Raph didn't say a word, hand tightening his grip on the flashlight as he lowered it to the heap the woman was huddled over. There, he found the source of the blood.

A corpse of a small boy lay, flesh torn and ribs exposed, muscle ripped from bone and the glossy sheen of organs pooling out to meet the blood. The light had caught his eyes, and in that solemn moment, Raphael became entranced. He'd seen the haze of death so many times in his short life.

"Hey lady, you ok?"

It was Casey, stepping forward, arm outstretched and reaching to touch her quaking shoulder. It wasn't until the touch that Raphael's stomach dropped like a dead weight. The sound, no longer sobs, but a sickening, alien clicking. From under Casey's stunned yet gentle grip, she cocked her filth-caked head and slowly, turned.

When the beam of the flashlight caught her eyes, Raph knew he'd made a big mistake. Her face was covered in blood, but beneath he could see the fangs, the rough scales penetrating her corpse-like skin, the feral hunger burning in her eyes.

"Case! Let go!"

Horrified, Casey released his grip and stumbled backwards, swallowed by the dark. "Holy fuck!" He yelped, colliding with the wooden crate behind him.

Before Raph could react, the monster howled, bared her vicious, blood-soaked fangs, and charged. "Tur-tle men alive or DEAD!" She wailed, her thin, blood soaked body colliding into Raphael with superhuman force, sending him reeling backwards in shock. The flashlight clattered to the ground and snapped off, bathing the world in impenetrable darkness. As his shell collided with the concrete, he slid across the floor with a horrendous grinding screech. Within seconds it was kneeling on his plastron, attempting to swipe its feral claws across his neck.

From somewhere behind, Casey emerged swinging a two-by-four, and cracked the beast over the skull. Still she didn't fall, but blinked stupidly, chest heaving, and met Raph's eyes in the darkness. Raph took the advantage of the hesitation and planted a bone-breaking kick to her bloodied abdomen.

The creature was launched away, colliding into a far wall with a sickening thump and landing loosely on the floor below. In a breath, Raph was back on his feet, and so was the monster.

"What the hell is that thing?" Casey yelled over the infuriated screeches of the creature. He was still brandishing the ancient two by four and swinging it madly when the creature lunged for him again, teeth snapping. Its fangs and cracked lips caked with threads of blood-tainted saliva.

"It's just like the thing in the woods!" Raph roared, crouching low when the creature cocked its head and dove for him, claws skidding across the stone floor, hunger in her eyes. They locked into a collision, her claws digging in to the back of his neck as they rolled across the ground, crashing through a mess of old crates until Raph's back hit the wall. His head came next, snapping backwards and dazing him. The creatures face, maw wide and glistening, pressing closer to his.

There was a distant sound of metal, ringing through the air, and then- a force. "Get offa him you freak!"

The moment the rusted pipe collided with the creature's skull Raph's vision cleared like a revelation. The sick crack of bone swiped the monster sideways with the impact, and he was staring at the ceiling, the wall- directly above him, and then the fuse. An idea clicked in his head like a loaded gun as he sat, shaking his brain free of static, and eyeing the rusted cogs of the machinery.

Finally, he had a plan.

She was on her feet again, swaying with her head caved in where the pipe had met it. Her bloodied eyeball hung from a string where it had been forced from its socket. For a moment, time froze.

The creature threw back her head and wailed.

With that blood curdling scream ripping through the ancient caverns, Raph lunged himself off the floor at a merciless speed, wrapping his arms around her shattered ribs and blood-soaked abdomen, wrestling her toward the processing equipment. She thrashed and screeched in his grip when the small of her back struck the rusted metal of the chute. In a flash, Raph had his hand around her throat, pushing her back onto the rusted, grime-caked chute.

There were a lot of things Raph knew he'd rather go through life without knowing. What a 1940s processing plant did to all the fish they caught was definitely one of them. Too bad he was about to find out. "Casey! Throw the switch!" The man was giving him a blank look, feet rooted to the floor with that lead pipe still clutched in his hand. "Throw the goddamn switch!" He roared again, trying to overpower the horrified screeches of the creature gurgling through his choke hold.

Casey snapped back to awareness by the sound of Raph's frantic demands. "Which switch? Where?"

"On the wall!" Raph bellowed, motioning with his head to the wall sporting a leaning tower of obliterated crates and… a fuse switch.

"On it!" Casey yelled, sprinting across the room and scrambling over the splintered wood of the boxes. He took in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and flipped it.

Silence, save for the strangled wails of the beast.

Then, the whole place sprung to life. The lights above snapped on with a start, filling the warehouse with impenetrable light. The creature screeched, spine bending and hands grappling at her throat, trying to pry it free. But her feral yelps were quickly drown by the shuddering roar of the machinery. The belts sprung to life, the gears and cogs moaned against the rust and years of disuse like the grind of old bones. The engine sputtered and belched out a terrifying haze of smoke and sparks the second the chute jumped and shuttered.

_It worked_, Raph breathed, _it worked._

Before Raphael even had a chance to push her body onto the conveyer belt, her hair was snatched by one of the rungs, ripping her body violently away from his grasp. Her bloodied mouth gaped into a voiceless scream, silenced by the hungry bellows of the equipment. Like a living beast, it drew her into its maw- an enclosed chamber of rusted knives. She thrashed against the pull, limbs contorted and her single eye wide with terror. Before it engulfed her head into its jaws, bit down, and sputtered. The lights flashed and flickered brown, and choking smoke billowed from its ancient underbelly.

Just as suddenly as it had revived, the lights went out and the machines ground to an ear-splitting halt, giving way to absolute silence once again.

In the dark, Raphael reeled away from the sight, finding his flashlight rolling underfoot. He bent down and flicked it on, shining it over the pale body. Its muscles were limp, and blood seeped from the satisfied maw, dripping thickly onto the concrete. "It's dead," he whispered, backing further away from the carnage. The smell of sweet iron and smoke was nauseating. "Let's get outta here."

"What do we do with the kid?" Casey said lowly from somewhere nearby. Raph found his face with the flashlight, then scanned the darkened corner for the corpse.

"Nothing we can do. Call the cops… but that won't get us nowhere. It'd do more harm than good."

A pause of silence. He could hear Casey breathing a sigh. "Ok, Raph… let's… let's just go home."

"Right."

It didn't take long to squeeze back out the broken window and find the roof ledge again, leaving the two corpses to their silent tomb.

* * *

April woke slowly the next cold morning to the sunlight pouring from the frosted bedroom window. Casey had come in late that night, exhausted but damp-haired and smelling of soap from the shower. She couldn't help but wonder whether it was sweat or blood he was washing off. She sat there for a while, looking at his sleeping face, the roughness of dark stubble and faded scars crisscrossing his cheek. But something like a vice was gripping her insides, turning her stomach cold.

She reached over and brushed her hand across the impression in the sheets he'd left at the foot of her bed… Don.

She was so stupid for not seeing it before. But of course she saw it. She could remember seeing it in his eyes even before all of this happened. When they came back, he'd clung to her like a lifeline. But he was her friend, she couldn't just leave him to suffer like that, shut off from the world and everything he used to care about. She hadn't seen him in front of a computer in ages, hadn't even seen him pick up a book in years. It was scary. _This is scary._

She bit her lip when the thought hit her. Maybe she'd been leading him on all along- doing all those little things that broadcasted all the wrong messages. But she knew him so well, they were practically identical at times. Or, they used to be. It broke her heart to see him like this, and she was the only one he seemed to talk to about anything. She couldn't just walk away from that. But maybe getting into bed with him that night was too much… or the ice cream on the porch. When she was doing it, she felt like a mother, a friend, a sister. Obviously Don saw it as something more.

The night before, and every other night she'd let Don close, too close, played through her head like a record. That look in his eyes, the way he would touch her, as if by accident but in that lingering way.

_Oh god, what have I done?_

She couldn't look at Casey. Not now. Guilt was coursing through her like adrenaline when she threw back the covers and touched her bare feet to the cold floor. It was still early, but she couldn't sleep, couldn't lie there by his side. Not after what had happened last night. Not after Donatello had leant in to kiss her and she… she kissed him back.

The same thought kept inching through her mind no matter how she tried to shake it. It played over and over like a mantra.

_Oh god, what have I done?_

She'd asked herself a million times, all night long as she lay awake long after he'd passed out there on the mattress, her mouth still warm with the taste of his saliva. And she'd watched him, trying to find the answer to why he'd gathered up the courage to do this, and saw, for the first time in an impossibly long time, a smile creeping across his sleeping face. Somehow, it felt right.

_Oh god, what have I done?_

But this was so, so ridiculously wrong. Cold terror had raced against her bloodstream when she tried to wake him, but his eyes remained shut. For a while, she couldn't get him to even stir. He'd just lie there, incoherent like a mockery of sin, like a dead weight until his heavy lids finally opened and those blood-shot eyes met hers, half closed, filled with lust.

She'd led him to the guest room, grateful for the empty house, knowing that the boys were probably still up on the roof getting drunk. She'd even smelled it faintly on Donatello. Maybe that was where he found the courage.

Without a word, she'd led him to bed and drew back the covers. His eyes never left hers, never, and she knew at that moment that it wasn't just the alcohol or whatever else he'd taken to get this far. The fire in his eyes was enough. Part of this… all of this… was him.

_Oh god, what have I done?_

She made it to the bathroom before halting in the doorway, finding the answer to what Casey had been washing off. The floor, the sink, the shower, even the bath towels were drenched in the sickly brown of diluted blood.

She brought her hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp, quickly ruling out an early morning shower to calm her nerves. She knew it wasn't Casey's blood. She would have known while he was crawling into bed last night. If it was Raph's, Casey would have told her, or at least wouldn't have gone to sleep so easily. Backing out of the doorway, she closed the door, leaving it slightly ajar and made her way back to the bedroom. Letting out a breath, she pulled on some old sweatpants and put her hair up. She could barely face her own reflection in the mirror.

She took another sweeping look at Casey before leaving to tackle the mess in the bathroom. Still, that mantra played in her head.

_Oh god, what have I done?_

The apartment was still quiet by the time she was finished throwing the towels in the hamper, digging up some clean ones for her own shower. For over an hour, she stood there in the mock rain, letting the hot rivulets cleanse her the best they could. Her palm left a dripping ghost of an impression on the shower wall.

It was ten o'clock when she was ready, starting breakfast in the kitchen. French toast, because she couldn't busy herself enough. They'd all be waking soon, and she'd need an excuse not to look them in the eye.

Her heart almost leapt out of her throat when the window by the stove slid open and a very pale Michelangelo slithered out, shivering miserably with an unhappy grimace. She dropped her spatula into the frying pan.

"Oh Mikey! What were you doing out there?" She had her hands around his shoulders, and his skin was ice cold.

"They left me out there," he moaned, clutching his head with one hand and staggering a little. "Ugh, I'm going to bed."

"Oh no you're not," April demanded, assuming that familiar motherly tone. "You're freezing. I just cleaned the bathroom, so go take a hot shower before you turn into a popsicle."

"Too late for that," he grumbled, letting April lead him into the still steamy bathroom. The damp heat was like ecstasy to his concrete muscles.

It wasn't a minute after the door had closed and the sound of the shower started when Casey walked in half-bleary eyed and pecked her clumsily on the cheek with his usual "g' mornin', babe."

This time, April didn't smile, she turned her eyes to the floor. "I'm making French toast," she beamed in a voice that was as cheery as she could muster, walking back into the kitchen. She picked up her spatula again for a distraction.

"French toast? What brought this on?" He smiled, wrapping his arms around her waist. After that horrible, bloody, scary-as-hell night, it was nice to have something warm and gorgeous to hold on to.

"Mmm nothing," she hummed, trying to hide the way his touch made her muscles tense. "I just thought it would be nice."

It wasn't long until both Raph and Casey were sitting at the breakfast table with plates of food in front of them. When April sat to join them, she got a recap of that night.

"So I was right," She said quickly. She'd been successfully ignoring the food on her plate for a while now. " There are more of them. And that little boy… oh god. Now I'm certain these monsters have to be the source of the murders. What're we going to do?"

"I don't know," Raph said lowly, absent mindedly picking at his food with his fork. "I guess we do what we always do. Kill it at the source. It's not like the cops're gunna do anything about it. Last night proved that much. Somebody's hidin' somethin'."

"Nah, the real cops ain't gunna do shit," Casey quipped, a broad grin cracking across his face. "But the fake ones will."

April put down her fork. She really wasn't hungry. "Oh, that's right. The interview! I completely forgot. I have it scheduled for noon which means… we have to leave in about an hour. Casey, did you bring the uniforms?"

"Left 'em on the dresser, babe," Casey said, stuffing his mouth full of the last bite of toast. "Sarge's so gunna fire me once he figures I been helpin' people impersonate. They're gunna throw my sorry ass in jail."

"That's why you gotta be discreet about it," Raph added. "Yanno that word, Case? Discreet?"

"Just eat your breakfast," Casey sneered. Raph sent him a glare.

April was up, scraping the remainder of her plate into the garbage. She hadn't eaten much at all, but she just couldn't force herself to. Not now. "I'm going to take a plate to Don," she said quietly, making up the plate with trembling hands. "You guys should get ready. Raph, if you and Mikey plan on coming along, you should put some disguises on. Casey can lend you some clothes."

* * *

He could still feel her; smell her in his sleep as if her scent clung like cobwebs to the corners of his dreams. It reminded him of summer nights spent sitting out on the rotten farmhouse porch, surrounded by the night bugs and ten million eyes of unblinking stars. The old farm garden was overgrown and wild along the walkway edge, the hollyhocks and lavender growing up through a tangle of weeds. In his mind, it _was _her. It was April.

God, even with his eyes closed he could see her face, her eyes wide with something like fear, her hand tense in his as the edges bled together. He wasn't thinking right. Wasn't…

No. Not everything pertained to logic. This was completely different. She made him completely different.

All those days of watching her from afar, _years _of dreaming of her and waking up with his chest heaving, remembering exactly why- they had to mean something. He knew he was a hopeless romantic ever since the day he found himself standing on the staircase, finding for the first time that he loved her.

_But this wouldn't work. It couldn't work. _She would dry up just like lavender strangled by those weeds. She needed light. She needed… Casey.

_Casey, that buffoon. _He didn't deserve her. She didn't deserve being treated that way. Sure, she would swear up and down that he's changed, that he grew a better head on his shoulders ever since they disappeared. But she was worried, worried all the time that that simpleton would make a mistake, get himself killed, _break her heart. _It was awful to see, a train wreck to watch. Why April had settled for that _idiot, _was one thing he could never understand.

But they were so alike, he and April. They had something together that Casey could never offer. Never.

_Maybe there is some logic in this after all._

The door cracks open and he knows it before he even sees her- her hand is on the doorknob, her heart pounding in her throat. He can feel it.

"Donny?"

His eyes are bleary and blurred, lethargy weighs on him like a stone and he remembers exactly why. He was stupid last night, so damn stupid for mixing two toxins together like he never knew any better. But April had saved him. April had…

He smiled sleepily from behind leaden eyelids, his mouth full of cotton as he spoke. "Hey, April." He was dazed still, twelve hours after the fact, but it scared him only minimally. His heart still could do that nervous flutter in his chest once his vision cleared.

She had a plate balanced in her hand, a pile of clothes in the other. "The interview with Katelynn Freeman is in an hour." There was a hint of coldness in her voice that he couldn't recognize, drown in a nervous quiver she was obviously failing to control. If anything, she sounded utterly exhausted. "Mikey and Raph are going. I… didn't want to leave you out, only if you want to go."

Her frown only deepened as she turned from the dresser where the clothes now lay. He could only blink lazily, that hazy smile touching the corners of his lips. Her expression didn't change as she crossed the room with plate in hand, finding the edge of the bed. She placed the plate on the nightstand and sat, staring at him like she was facing a great fear, something grotesque she just had to study. She was picking him apart like the cogs in a clock, undoing him hinge by hinge with her eyes. Still, she came up short. "Donny," she sighed, finally able to tear her eyes away. She wrung her hands instead. "What… what in the world ever possessed you to do that?"

There was a hot pang rushing like lightning through Don's chest. Within an instant, the fog was gone and he was pushing himself up to sitting, eyes wide and sickened. "A-april... I…" He hadn't realized how badly his hands were shaking, or what a maddening pace his heart was rocketing at in his chest. He took in a quivering breath.

He'd made a mistake. It was wrong, he knew it was wrong. He should have listened when she tried to pull away. Hell, he could have stopped before he even reached for that door handle and let every last inch of his resolve slip away.

But… _Carpe Diem… _he thought he had nothing left to lose. Yet in that moment, the cold tone of her voice, that nervous look in her eyes laced with sadness, pain, fear, pity, all those miserable things that just couldn't be paired with love… they were there, and they were shattering his every last hope and dream. He had more to lose than he remembered. He still had April.

Or maybe he never had her to begin with…

_Stupid. Oh god, I'm so, so stupid. _He could feel the flush burning madly in his cheeks, and the clawing urge to just get up and run to wherever his feet would carry him. But he was cornered and she sat unmoving at the foot of his bed. She was waiting for her answer. He began again. "April, I… I made a mistake." That word, _mistake, _it made him sick to the very core. He fought back the first hint of tears stinging behind his eyes. But the sadness still rolled over him like a crushing tide. He raked his hand over his face, but it did nothing to relieve it. "I just…" His voice was shaking, but a stab of anger was enough to give him an edge of clarity. "You can't tell me you never felt it. You can't tell me all of this meant nothing. It doesn't make any sense."

"Donny, I'm married!" She laughed without a trace of humor. But the entire situation seemed absurd. Don was looking at her now with that same old calculating clarity she hadn't seen in him for years. It only fueled her. "What do you expect me to do? Leave Casey? I love him. I could never do that."

"Then why the hell did you kiss me back?"

There was a hiss like pain through April's lips, piercing through the silence that followed. She refused to look at him, refused to even dignify him with a response. But mostly, his anger had startled her into a silence that made her guilt flood back sevenfold. She crossed her arms across her chest and stared at the floor.

"You could have said no. You could have fought back! You could have done _something _instead of encouraging me!"

April physically flinched at that last attack, building frustration making her reel to her feet, fists clenched at her sides. "I tried to pull away, Don! I was worried about you. I didn't know what to do. Tell me what you want me to do!"

She should have slapped him, slapped herself, kicked, screamed, told him to get off of her. But she didn't. Don was right, she didn't. She just let him in, too close, too far, and kissed him.

"I don't know," he said lowly, turning his back to her. His eyes found the clouded sky out the window and felt his insides sink into oblivion. Outside, the day was gray, the heavy air threatening rain.

April's shoulders sank. "I was… I'm just so confused," she breathed, her eyes tracing the scars ripping through his battle-torn shell, holding the pieces together like a poorly mended plate. Her stomach turned sour with guilt.

"You're confused?" he said softly, head hung low. "April, look at me."

The desperate pain in his voice was enough to make her insides rip to pieces. When she lifted her head from examining the floor, her eyes met his, then drifted to his shaking hand, gingerly running his fingers over his scars. "What am I doing with my life? Nothing. Nothing because… I can't. I can't even hold myself together enough to show my face to my own brothers. I'm trying so hard to pick back up but… I don't even know where to begin. April… you're the only thing I have left. All those nights you sat with me on the porch, all those times I had those flashbacks and you were there... You can't blame me for that. _Please."_

She had no idea what he was asking for. Forgiveness, maybe, or even another chance? God, she didn't feel like she could do either at the moment. She was struck completely and utterly dumb. Backing toward the door, she pressed her palm against the cool metal and shook her head softly. "I don't know Don." Turning the handle felt like liberation and betrayal. Her heart was pounding in her chest, but guilt weighed it down like lead strings. "I just think we need some space for a while. Just think about it. Ok?"

He didn't say a word as he watched her leave. The look in her eyes as she slipped through the door pierced like a last goodbye. He couldn't cry. It was his own damn fault she feared him now, but he couldn't cry. Instead he curled back into bed and watched the cold fall rain snake slowly down the window pane.


	10. Chapter 10: Face of the Enemy

Chapter 10: Face of the Enemy

Katelynn Freeman lived in an old brownstone building nestled in Manhattan's Upper East Side. It was formidable, if anything. The streets were lined with Rolls Royce and limousines, businessmen running from the sudden downpour under the cover of black umbrellas, trying their best to avoid dirtying their shoes in the puddles collecting on the sidewalks.

When Casey pulled the van up to the curb, he let out an impressed whistle. "Pretty swanky joint she's got here," he grinned. "What do ya think people do with all that money?"

"Wallow in it like pigs an' waste their time," Raph muttered darkly, tracing the wrought iron gate that ran across the patch of grass and finely preened hedges. The front porch alone, with its carved marble columns and heavy wooden doors was bigger than both his bedrooms in the last two Lairs combined.

"I know what I'd do with it," Mikey groaned from the back seat. "Two words: hangover-less beer. I seriously feel like I'm gunna puke."

"And whose fault is that?" Raph snapped, though he couldn't hide his amusement. "I told ya to slow down last night."

Mikey threw him a glare. "Well maybe if you guys didn't leave me on the roof all night I wouldn't be dying right now. You suck."

"You ain't dying, Mikey," Raph grinned, "and I told you we took the back way in last night. Still ain't our fault. You drink yourself stupid, you pay the price."

"Well I'm still mad at you. Maybe I'll just puke in your face for payback."

"If you do, I'll break your fuckin' neck."

"Ok, ok, guys we don't have time for this," April interrupted. She also didn't have the patience for it. Not today. "We're already five minutes late, so let's get this done. According to the city's building plans, there should be a series of covered porches and balconies around the back. Casey and I will go knock on the front door and try to get the meeting in one of the back rooms. You guys should be able to find a good place to listen and check the place for anything suspicious."

"And what'd we do if we can't find you?" Raph asked.

Rifling through the canvas bag crammed by her feet in the passenger's seat, April provided a set of communicators. "I bought these at a technology store. They're cheap," she said, handing one to Raph, "nothing like what Don would have made, but they'll have to do. My end has an earpiece with a microphone so it can be concealed."

Raph took the talkie from her and examined it, giving her a curt nod before they exited the van. Rounding the building proved difficult, even in the murky gray of the daylight, it was still light enough to be seen. At least the rainstorm had cleared the streets of onlookers, and wading through the damp hedgerow along the cast iron fence was met with no disruptions. Before they disappeared around the back, Raph peered through the shrub branches.

Casey and April were standing on the huge front porch, dressed in full cop regalia. Casey was already looking like he was going to have a hard time playing it smooth the way he shifted from foot to foot. When the door finally opened, they both physically flinched. April smiled softly at the tall, dark man standing in the doorway.

"Hi, I'm Officer May Talbott," she lied. "My uh, _colleague _and I have an interview scheduled for Miss Freeman?"

The man only straightened his broad shoulders and examined them both with a scrutinizing eye. His voice was deep and husky. "I would be in the right of mind to see your badges before you just waltz in here, _officers."_

For a moment they both froze under his calculating stare. To break the silence, Casey dramatically patted down his pockets and shrugged. "Musta forgotten it at the station," he grinned. In the back of his mind he could almost hear his greasy-haired sleaze ball of a grandfather say "_That's right. Give 'em the old Jones charm." _ It had to be convincing somehow, right? I mean, he was the grandson of a train robber. Master of disguise, cool as a cucumber, suave as…

When April turned to throw him a glare, his face fell into a pout. April wracked her brain for an excuse. "Well, sir, we don't have badges because we're on the interview team. No badges required." She even batted her eyelashes a little for effect, but the man simply kept his stern look.

The tension physically lifted when a figure came up from behind. A tall, slender girl with sandy blonde hair and glasses grabbed the man's attention. "It's alright, Matthias. They have an appointment," she laughed, forcing him out of the door and greeting April with a smile. "Officer Talbot, hi!"

"Well, hi," April said in surprise, shaking the girl's extended hand. From what she had seen on the news that night at the farmhouse, she hadn't expected such a warm welcome. On the phone the girl seemed civil, warm, even. But her enthusiasm was quite a surprise. "Katelynn, I presume?"

"That's me," she grinned with a nod, opening the door wider and ushering them into the expansive marble-floored foyer. "Call me Kate. You'll have to forgive ole' Matthias here. He's grown pretty nervous about callers comin' round. But let me tell you I am so glad the police department finally decided to get involved. After I made that speech to the press I've been havin' men comin' round near daily offerin' me money to keep my mouth closed. But I don't do that easy, and I sure don't need the money."

"Nice place you got here," Casey said, making it a point to keep his hands in his pockets at all times, just like April said.

"It is nice, in't it," Kate said, notably looking around the room. "Personally too much for my taste, but my daddy insisted we live like well paid folks. I suppose it's always been his dream. He's always had expensive taste. Spoils me darn rotten, but it's all just things to me. Makes me miss Texas. Things're so much simpler there."

"Texas?" April asked, "I have a cousin in Texas. Where are you from?"

"You don't…" Casey began before biting his tongue at the look it earned him. He'd been getting it a lot lately. _Startin' to make me feel like a friggin' trained monkey…_

"Houston. My daddy worked there for years. I grew up there, didn't move here 'till a year ago. You ever heard of GenTech Industries?"

"GenTech? Really?" April failed to mask the surprise in her voice and bit her lip at the uncensored reaction. But the connection was incredible. Back in her days as a lab assistant under Dr. Stockman, she had dealt with GenTech's research. Most of the files had been blacklisted, but she'd been curious enough to declassify some of the encryptions on Stockman's computer from time to time. All she could remember was experimental genetic modification for agricultural purposes. It never did seem to fit with the research Stockman was conducting at the time. Though the Mousers were supposed to be marketed for agricultural pest control before the project's untimely demise. "So your father is a geneticist?"

April couldn't help the guilty squirm in her stomach from using the present tense. She was already beginning to like the girl. It was awful to see that vicious hope in her eyes.

"Why yes, he is. One of the best around." Then the girl paused and gave a sheepish grin. "My, where are my manners. Here I am prattling on and haven't even given you a place to sit. We can go in the study, if you want. Maybe Matthias could get you guys a drink?"

Casey had almost forgotten about the dark man standing solemnly against the far wall. He hesitantly peeked at him from over his shoulder, meeting the man's cold, dark eyes. He couldn't turn away fast enough.

"No, that's fine, really," April smiled. In fact, she was feeling a little giddy over Freeman's connection to GenTech. "But the study would be nice," she added, making it a point to mention 'study' into the microphone. She wasn't regretting the hours she'd spent in the city library pouring over the Freeman building's plans. Luckily, the study was in the back of the house.

"Alrighty, this way," she beamed, leading them up the stairs.

Once they were all settled in the plush leather furniture of the study, April got a quick "Got it" from Raph in her earpiece before she continued, pencil and paper in hand. "So what do you know about your father's position at GenTech?"

Katelynn rocked back in her seat with a thoughtful glance. "Hmm, not much, really. A lot of it was top secret stuff." But then she paused and looked shiftily around the room, sighing deeply before her eyes rested on April once again. "All I know is that he was doing something with cows, and I adore the little buggers. Now don't go callin' me a tree hugger, but I know some things must have happened to those poor things that weren't supposed to happen in the first place. My daddy might not 'a cared too much about rearrangin' their molecules to make them healthier and stronger and such, but sometimes he'd come home real upset over something, spend all night awake workin' till morning. And I know PETA was breathin' down his neck."

April bit her lip. The sinking feeling in her stomach was almost unbearable. "Kate…" she began timidly, afraid to overstep the boundaries of 'police officer'. "Would your father ever have performed those experiments on other animals?"

Kate gave her an inquisitive look which quickly broke into disgust. "Of course not! I mean, he could only tell me so much, but GenTech does only agriculture and things like that. The whole company got shut down during the Mad Cow Disease scare. They were accusin' my father's research, so he resigned and the project ended. I know it was only cows. Why would you ask that? Do you think it has somethin' to do with his disappearance?"

"I'm not sure, honey," April said slowly, trying to fight back that pang of guilt by scribbling a flurry of notes onto her notepad. "I'm just working from my leads."

"Well…" the girl trailed, peering quickly out the window. "You know what I think, don't you?" She paused again, frowning softly before turning back to April. "I think the government has him. Call me crazy all you want, but all these men in black ringin' my doorbell trying to make me shut my mouth is givin' me some right good hints. After my dad got transferred over here, it's been nothin' but strange."

April swallowed thickly before provoking further. "Do you know anything about what your father does now?"

"Not even the slightest. Something real top secret, but that's all I gathered. I don't even know what company he works for anymore. Somethin' with computers, maybe. Definitely in a lab though, and my father would never give up genetics, even after his project was shut down. He's too strong-minded for that."

From the other end of the talkie, Raph gripped the line tightly. Both he and Mike had found the balcony no problem. Climbing three floors up had been a piece of cake. The only miserable thing was that it was raining and frigid, even with the hoods of their sweat shirts pulled over their heads. The covered porch below them at least had the overhang, but up here all there was to it was wind and icy rain. "Does this sound like a scam or what?" he growled from where he leant against the iron railing. "I thought this shit'd be over with once Bishop got the knife."

"Once, late at night, some men came to our door. They called my dad 'Agent Freeman', if that helps any." The girl's voice said from through the other line, but this time Raph wasn't paying any attention.

"Hey, I asked you a question," he whispered harshly to where Mikey stood on the other side of the balcony.

"Huh? Oh yeah… a scam," he mumbled half aware. He'd been standing there in the rain and in the cold for a whole freakin' hour with the hangover from hell. His head was pounding in his skull and his stomach…. ugh, his stomach was doing things that stomachs just weren't meant to do. At the moment the rain was reminding him a lot about the sea and waves and water and moving back and forth. "Ugh." The thought was killing him. At this point he couldn't even care about the friggin' monsters. So what if Raph and Casey found one in the city? That was past and he was going to be sick _right now. _Right here on this crazy girl's balcony that they weren't even supposed to be standing on. Without even thinking he gripped the iron railing in both hands to steady himself.

"Mike. Don't even fucking think about it," Raph growled from somewhere he could freaking care less about. All he wanted was for the world to stop moving for just one second before he lost his lunch… or breakfast. clamped his hand over his mouth.

"I think I'm gunna…" Yeah. The last word of that sentence wasn't necessary since he'd decided to physically display it all over Kate Freeman's rooftop.

"That's it. I'm gunna kill you."

"What was that?"

That last comment came pouring in from the other end of the talkie, making Raph's heart leap up in his throat even more than the trail of spit and bile hanging ominously from his retching brother's mouth. So now their cover was busted and there's puke all over the lower roof. He hears April bite back a gasp and his pulse is rocketing. _Come on April, say something smooth to cover my ass here._

But his silent prayer falls on deaf ears and he's taking matters into his own hands. He grabbed onto Mikey's shoulders and growled in his ear "Party's over, come on nimrod. Ape, we'll meet you in the car."

In the stuffy book-lined study April's heartbeat seemed to be drowning out her common sense along with the buzz of Raph's voice in her ear. "Oh, I'm sure it was nothing," she swallows, watching the girl's eyes trace over to the heavy-curtained glass doors for the fourth time in five minutes. She almost jumps to her feet and tackles her when she gets out of her chair. "Agent?" April blurted out lamely, as if picking up that last aspect of their shattering conversation would be enough to stop her mid step.

"Yeah, they came to the door at like, ten o'clock at night. Three of them, all dressed in black suits… and I really think I saw something out there. Heard something too," She said, brows knotted as she walked closer to the window.

April's breath caught in her throat when she saw the girl's hand travel to the curtain. She had to think fast, get them out of there before something happened. All she could think of was jabbing Casey in the gut with her elbow and making for the door. "Oh, look at the time!" She exclaimed, standing from the couch and backing out toward the door.

"Wha? ow! Oh!" came a only half-coherent string of single-syllable grunts from Casey. "Yeah, I think we gotta get goin' now," he grinned, trying not to wince as he stood and shuffled after April. "Gotta… meeting… at the station. We can find our own way out."

"Nice talking to you!" April added, ushering Casey down the stairs.

But Kate was sure she'd heard something. She couldn't have been imagining it, not this time. She'd been watching the window out of the corner of her eye for most of the conversation. Something was definitely fishy. Heart pounding in her ears and her brain flashing images of black clothed men with sniper guns waiting with their barrels cocked on the other side, her fingertips brushed the heavy curtain. With a deep inhale, she snatched it and pulled it back with a flurry.

It was raining outside. The balcony and the courtyard were empty.

She always did have a feeling she'd lose it someday.

A nervous smile spread across her face as she watched the icy rain make trails down the window glass. But when she turned, her face fell. The room was just as empty as the courtyard. From the foyer, she could hear the front door slam.

She stood there in the silent study, listening to the sound echo long after it faded, breathing in the smell of her father's musty textbooks that set upon the shelves, solemn as stones. Gray light filtered from the drawn curtain, revealing the thin veneer of dust spread across his polished desk. She traced her finger through it with a weighty sigh, and gave up yet another piece of hope.

* * *

"Nice goin', dipshit," Casey muttered, sliding into the driver's seat. He fiddled with the keys and started the ignition. "We told you to slow it down last night. Or you coulda at least staid at the apartment. You almost got your ass caught back there."

"Raph already gave me that lecture, thanks," Mikey moped from the back seat. He lent his head against the window, watching the thick rain pound the pavement.

"Casey's right, Mikey," April chided, turned around in the passenger's seat to face him. Mike kept his eyes trained out the window. "Even with Bishop dead, the world's far more dangerous then you remember. People are scared. Bishop drilled so much fear into their minds..." April paused and shook her head before turning back in her seat. The reflection in her eyes caught the passing buildings. "I've heard of people reporting humans_, _Mike, _humans _with _birth defects. _People don't just scream and run anymore. They call the EPA."

"But I thought the whole point of storming Bishop's base was to stop all of this craziness," Mikey groaned. He really didn't want to think about this any longer.

"Well to me it sounds like Bishop's still got thugs around ta do his dirty work for him," Raph added, "I can't be the only one who thinks this sounds fishy."

"You're not," April said. "The virus Don and I implanted in their mainframe was meant to incapacitate them, not end it completely. They would eventually be able to restore the damage if they tried, and it has been a year since then. But with Bishop gone, you would think that would have been enough to shut down the program for good."

"So that leaves the question of exactly who these jerks are working for," Raph muttered. Everything had been so quiet for so long back at the farmhouse. It was like the second he finally gave into the itch to come back, someone pulls out all the stops and they're stuck in the middle of some crack pot government conspiracy.

"If that's even what's happening," April replied. "The men trying to silence Kate Freeman might just be trying to clean up Bishop's mess. There's no way of proving that Dr. Freeman worked for EPA in the first place."

"So we got a dead lead. Fan-freakin'-tastic," Raph grumbled. This whole 'responsible leader' shit was really starting to get under his skin. But he'd just spent god knows how long standing in the soaking rain for nothing. It was easy to get stressed out, even easier to get mad. He couldn't help pressing his hand to the pressure of a headache forming right between his eyes. "So what the hell do we do now?" He snapped, watching his own eyes in the rearview mirror, a bubble of frustration rising in his chest. "We can't just ignore the fuckin' monsters out there eatin' little kids, tryin' ta tear my eyes outta their damn sockets! What're we gunna do about that, huh?"

"Jeez, Raph, this ain't the end of the world," Casey added, both hands on the steering wheel. "You guys 've been through this before, right? That whole Outbreak Virus thing? It ain't any different."

"It is different!" Raphael roared, making everybody flinch. Mikey openly winced. "It is different," he repeated, voice lowered. His eyes turned back out the window with a sigh. "Yeah, we did this before… but not without Leo. Not without Don. I just… don't know what ta do." Raph leant over and cradled his head in his hand. "I ain't good at this leader stuff. I know I ain't any good."

He lifted his head when he felt a warm weight on his shoulder. Looking up, he met Mikey's eyes. "I think you're doing a good job, bro. We'll figure this out. I know we will."

"Thanks, Mike," he murmured, shrugging his brother's hand off and turning back to the window.

"But you talk like Donny's dead, and he's not."

Raph's face contorted to a scowl, his breath fogging up the window glass. "Well he might as well be!"

Mikey shook his head, praying to whatever gods that gave a damn about mutant turtle hangovers to spare him. But he didn't think his poor head could take any more yelling. Still he had to say _something. _He couldn't let Raph lose faith in himself again, not when he'd come this far. "See, Raph, that's where you're wrong. You lose hope so fast and then you give up. Just try looking on the bright side for a change, bro!" His face cracked into a grin that was only partly feigned. But he could pretend for now, for Raph. "Come on, give us a game plan. Just like you said, kill it at the source, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Raph sighed, peeling his eyes away from the window. "I guess we can go out lookin' tonight, try ta dig up more evidence, see where these freaks are comin' from. They gotta be crawlin' up from somewhere, and since there's been no sightings durin' the day, I bet they go back before sunrise."

"And I can do more sleuthing," April offered. "I bet I can get Don to help me hack into the government mainframe again. If they've got agents running around silencing people like Kate, who knows what kind of dirt I could dig up. Also, I want to research Dr. Freeman's connections to Stocktronics Industries."

"Wow, that's a great game plan and all, guys," Casey interrupted. "But do ya think we could get outta the damn car? We've been sittin' here parked for ten minutes."

"You mean Aspirin? And bed? And _not _standing outside in the freezing rain? Yay!" Mikey exclaimed, throwing the hood of his sweatshirt back over his head and making a break for the front door. "I'm so kicking Donny out of bed. Make him sleep on the couch for a change, thank you!"

April couldn't help but smile as they all clamored out of the car behind him. Halfway up the stairs, Raph sidled next to her. "So you really think we can pull this off, Ape?"

"I'm not sure," she mused, fishing in her pocket for her apartment key. "We've got a lot of work ahead of us, but I don't think it's impossible." Watching Mikey disappear down the hall towards the bedrooms, April stopped and looked the turtle straight in the eye. His gaze wandered for a moment, unsure, before settling back to hers. "Mike's right, Raph. You know he is." She wouldn't let him look away. "If we lose hope now, we don't stand a chance. So… just don't lose faith in yourself, ok?" She cracked a warm smile, just a flash before she turned away. "And I'll work on Donny for you, ok?" She grinned over her shoulder. "He isn't as far gone as you think."

Halfway down the main hall, April was nearly barreled over by a frantic Michelangelo. She caught her breath with a gasp before he stopped himself. "April, oh man! April!" His eyes were searching frantically around the hall in a way that made her heart pound.

"Mikey, calm down. What's going on?"

"He's gone! Oh man, I can't find him anywhere! He… he's not in the bedroom… not in the living room… Oh man. Oh god. Oh shit."

"Okay, calm down," she repeated, her voice was pleading, both hands latched onto his shoulders. "You have to tell me what's going on, alright? Deep breath."

When he met her eyes, all she could see was fear, something heavy, like grief. He took in a shaky breath and whispered "April… Don's gone."


	11. Chapter 11: The Runaway

Chapter 11: The Runaway

Mikey had taken to sleeping in till late afternoon the past two weeks, and today was no exception. He stared blearily at the clock on the nightstand, which told him just how great a sin he had committed. Five thirty PM, and he still felt like he could use a few more hours. The nights were exhausting. They must have searched the entire city from top to bottom twice by now. The distances they'd covered was enough to make even _his_ legs sore, which was a small feat all on its own.

Even more exhausting was the worrying. Everyone was worrying themselves crazy, especially April. And ever since Raph and Casey had that run-in with that thing at the factory, he just kept dreaming about those monsters finding his brother out there in the cold with no one there to protect him. Or maybe he'd gotten sick and needed them. Ever since Don had gotten injured, he seemed to be more prone to it. And god, that scared him to death.

The weather had been less than forgiving the past few days, a slushy mixture of rain and snow like the sky just couldn't decide between either. But they looked for him still. Rain or snow or even both couldn't stop them from at least trying.

The only problem was that they were looking for someone, not even just a ninja, but _Don, _who obliviously didn't want to be found.

With a groan he pulled himself up out of his face plant into the pillow he'd happily collapsed upon just a second ago. Sitting here stewing wasn't going to help anyone. He'd figured that one out by experience. Reluctantly, he threw back the snuggly-warm blankets and rolled out of bed.

The weather wasn't much different today. The sun was just starting to set behind the thick mask of clouds, but that didn't make much of a difference. Down on the streets, no one stirred save for the occasional car or taxi winding down the road. It was days like these that could chill you right down to the bone.

He involuntarily shivered at the sight of sleet beating at the windows, using every ounce of his willpower to keep himself from crawling back into the warm blankets. _Don's out there, _he thought to himself, trying not to imagine those one thousand and one tragic scenarios his overactive brain could cook up in times like these.

_No, it's Don. He's a big turtle. He can take care of himself._

Or… at least that's what he kept telling himself.

Snatching the quilt off the bed—Don's bed, because he'd gotten so sick of sleeping on the floor while Raph hogged the couch—he groggily made his way to the kitchen. Passing by the living room, he wasn't surprised to see Raph slumped on the couch yet again, surrounded by empty beer cans with some kind of sports game blaring. He didn't even notice Mikey walking by, just stared blearily at the TV with a fresh can in hand.

The familiar sight was enough to make Mikey's heart sink. But he was too tired to interfere now. He just wished that Raph had a different way of dealing with things like this, especially since it'd been so long since he'd gotten back into that kind of groove. But maybe that was just too much to ask.

Reluctantly, Mikey held the quilt closer around his shoulders and shuffled by.

April was in the kitchen, seated at the table staring blankly at the wall in front of her with a hot cup of tea in her hands. When Mike walked in the door, she gave him a warm smile that really wasn't supposed to look as sad as it did.

"Hey."

"Hey," she murmured, watching him slowly make his way to the cupboard and pull out a new box of Captain Crunch.

He fiddled with the box for a while in the relative silence, the sound of Raph's TV pouring in from the hallway. Finally he got it poured, and sighed. "Raph's at it again."

April was silent for a beat before she answered. "Yeah, I know. He's already been through a case since yesterday." Mikey hobbled across the room and pulled up the chair beside her, looking completely disinterested in his cereal. "I just wish Casey wouldn't keep buying it for him."

"Casey knows better. It'd only make him mad."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

_Poor Mikey, _she thought, taking a long sip of her tea. She couldn't stop worrying herself sick over Don, and Raph had his ways of dealing with things, but she really hadn't taken the time to think about how the situation affected Mikey. He looked utterly exhausted, cradling his head in one hand while he slowly at his cereal. She didn't want to ask him if he was okay, because that answer was obvious. The closest thing she could come up with was "You look tired."

"Yeah," he answered quietly, playing with his cereal more than he was eating it. "It's just a headache, and my legs are sore from running all over the place every night."

"Maybe we can take a break tonight. Casey won't be home until eight anyways…"

"No!" He snapped, suddenly looking much more alert. "I didn't mean that. I was just complaining, yanno. Don't take me too seriously."

He offered her a weak smile that she gratefully returned. "Can I at least get you some Tylenol then? You're not going to be much of a help if you're miserable."

There was something about April's mothering that made them both feel much better. "Sure," he agreed, shoveling another spoonful of cereal into his mouth before taking the pills. But really, he didn't know how much it would help. He just wanted Don safely back home and a few more hours of sleep. Was that really too much to ask?

But he had to force that out of his mind. Instead he distracted himself with tiredly eating the rest of his cereal. Still, he couldn't stop thinking about Raph. He'd gotten so far with him before, back out at the farm house. Before, pretty much all he did was drink and brood until Mike managed to yank him out of his shell (so to speak). Now Don's missing and everything goes back to square one.

Didn't Raph learn _anything_?

Finishing the rest of his cereal and plopping the empty bowl in the sink, he declared "I'll go talk to him."

Mikey's determined march into the living room gave all the explanation April needed.

Raph was exactly how he'd left him, drowning in a sea of empties and wearing a groove in the couch. He didn't even acknowledge Mike sitting heavily next to him. The game seemed more exciting anyways, even if he couldn't remember which sport it was.

"So… how much did you have today, Raph?"

"Huh?"

Mike took that answer and the blank look his brother provided him as a bad sign. But he wouldn't humor him. He'd just keep asking the question until he got a decent answer. So, he did just that.

"How much did you drink today?"

Raph's blank expression immediately changed to irritation, a hint of anger pricking his voice. It was no surprise that Raph could be a very touchy, angry drunk. But Mikey was adamant that he really didn't need any help in that department.

"Don't lecture me," he slurred, turning back to the game and gulping spitefully out of the fresh can.

"Raph, come on. We've been _through_ this. It isn't helping anybody, sitting here drinking yourself miserable." Raph didn't even turn to acknowledge him. "_Please, _what help does this do for Donny?"

Now that caught his attention, brow furrowed into a furious scowl. "Mikey, shut the fuck up. You don't know a damn thing."

Sometimes, silence was the best answer when dealing with Raph, and Mike chose to do just that. It didn't take long for him to start opening up, because while Raph might be an angry drunk, he was also a painfully honest one. He was hanging his head now, and it was Mike's turn to play the indifferent one. Pretending to zone out at the TV screen was one of his easiest and most effective tricks. Worked every time.

"Oh god, I was such a jackass," he moaned, chucking his newest empty can on the floor and cradling his head in his hand. "God, I'm such a bastard."

Mikey only rolled his eyes. He's heard enough of Raph's stupid self-loathing crap that he's learned to tune it out pretty well.

"It's all my fault… 's gotta be," he breathed, almost on the verge of tears. Mikey just watched him stew, trying his best to not look outwardly disgusted while adding the trait of 'weepy' to Raph's list of drunken attributes. "I… I told 'im he's a waste 'a space. I just… I can't believe…"

Yeah, he'd finally had enough of that. "Shut up, Raph."

"What did you jus' say ta me?"

And now he was _really _wishing he could take that back. But he made the bed. He might as well lie in it. "I told you to shut up," he said matter-of-factly, somehow still brave enough to stare straight into his brother's blurry eyes. "You know none of that's true. Or, well… you were _really mean_ to him, but you say dumb stuff like that all the time. Yeah, it probably didn't help anything, but Donny's got thicker skin than that. He is _your brother._"

Raph grew silent for a moment, suddenly infatuated with a spot on the floor. A few minutes ticked by on the DVD player, and Mikey was beginning to wonder just how long his brother was going to sulk like this. Knowing Raph, it could take a while. "Don wouldn't leave just because of something you said, trust me." Was all he really had to offer. "We'll find him, I promise."

* * *

The night was bitter cold as he made his way down the empty street. But he could only pull the quickly dampening sweatshirt closer to fend off the chill, trying his best to ignore the fact that it smelled like Casey's cologne. Rain turned to snow, wet and fat, disappearing as soon as it hit the sidewalk with a blink. It might as well be raining.

It had been easy enough to avoid them. All these days turned into months and years of feeling like an invalid were melting away with the snow. Even after all this time, nineteen years of ninja training wasn't that easily forgotten. They'd been searching for him systematically from dusk until sunrise. During the rare days he'd venture out in the sunlight, he'd spotted April's red Chevy combing the blocks by her apartment.

Three weeks, it had been, since he'd made his decision. Sitting there in a darkened room with nothing but the walls to distract him was no way to live. Besides, his family had more important things to worry about.

There were monsters lurking in the shadows, creatures that could rip you in half with a look. He'd seen the marks on Raph's arm, the blood. And the night before he left, he and Casey had come stumbling in, drenched in it. He'd heard them whispering about the creature in the warehouse. He heard the water rushing through the pipes in the walls just above his head. Blood, washing away.

He'd heard it, seen it, felt it all because always, he was watching. Doing nothing but watching, waiting for something intangible to happen upon him by sheer accident.

Maybe it was life he'd been waiting for all along. Not healing, not dignity, not _April_, but life. Raph always loved to talk about him like he was dead, and maybe he had been dead all along. The night that Leo died, he had taken his brother with him.

He shouldn't be alive. Everyone knew that. But he'd surprised them all by pulling himself up from the edge of death, re-learning even the simplest things by sheer determination. He'd taught himself to walk again, even when they had told him he'd be lucky to regain sensation with the implanted microchip. _Probability of regained sensation: ten in one hundred. Probability of full recovery of motor function: one in two thousand. _But he'd beat the odds.

Yet somehow, he'd lost all everything that drove him. And why? Because it was _hard._ His family was in ruins, and the world around him was crumbling still. If things had been different, if he hadn't been so ashamed of his own helplessness, he could have been stronger for them. He could have stared bad luck right in the face and fought it with the same stubborn determination he always had.

But he didn't. Instead, he let it crush him, and his brothers hated it him for it.

That's why he had to leave. He couldn't get stronger if he kept living that way. He had to prove that he could be better. He had to prove that he could be strong. Somehow, he'd find a way to get his life back and make it up to his brothers, to April. Maybe then they'd take him back.

He'd found a roomy cavern in the sewers not long after his departure, an old maintenance junction a good eight miles from the old Lair. He'd spent hours tapping the electric and plumbing, scavenging junkyards under the cover of night for tools and materials. He'd even gone back to the old Lair to scavenge what he could, only to find that Bishop's little scare tactics "exhibit" had been looted bare and left in ruins. Still, he did what he could, busying himself in every way possible and productive. It was the only thing he could do to breathe an air of normalcy back into his life. And someday, when the project was done, he would come back. Maybe then they would even find the heart to forgive him.

But he could work a whole lot faster if it wasn't for the pain. It ate away at him constantly from the inside out, haunted his dreams until it drove him sleepless. He didn't know how much of it was psychosomatic, but it was paralyzing. Always, it sat there on the edge of his brain like a roadblock he couldn't overcome. There was just no way he could get stronger if it was constantly clouding his thoughts.

April's Vicodin had run out on him two days after he left. That's when he first noticed the pain. He'd have those nightmares again. He'd be back in the fortress on Atun with that shadow falling over him, or he'd be crushed under an endless pile of concrete after a sewer tunnel collapsed on him. Sometimes it would get even more creative, but always, it ended up with him snapping awake drenched in a cold sweat in his little pile of blankets and newspaper on the sewer floor. He'd lie there in near agony for hours, just staring into the blinding dark, listening to the sound of his own breathing and trying to convince himself that the room wasn't getting any smaller.

He'd stolen many times before, but never for such selfish reasons. It was the second pharmacy he'd raided in two weeks, grabbing enough Vicodin to last him a while, even if the last supply had run out quicker than he first intended. They'd catch on to him soon, if he wasn't careful. He'd just have to be logical about it, spread the raids out over a period of time, take a modest amount from pharmacies spread widely geographically. As long as he was careful, he'd have everything he'd need.

That's where he was returning from now, braving the chill of sleet turning the sidewalks slushy under his feet. But at least he had the clothes April had left on his dresser the day he left. She wanted him to come with them to the interview, but he'd let them leave him behind without a fuss. He was sure April was scared of him by now, anyways.

He hugged the bag of pill bottles tighter at the thought of April, chewing on his bottom lip hard to stifle a shudder that had nothing to do with the cold. It made him _sick _to think of her, all the stupid things he'd done, that fantasy he'd fabricated in his head. It was all just a twisted illusion, warped by his pathetic, fraying mind. Then he let himself get inebriated and act like such an inconsiderate _asshole _to the one person that didn't openly resent him.

He'd replayed it over in his mind enough times to predict the nauseating knot forming in his gut, the cold sweat and flush of sheer embarrassment that rushed over him in an instant. He felt like he could stop, right then and there in the miserable sleet, and smash his head on that concrete wall just off to his left. But instead he ducked into a nearby alley and fumbled with the zipper on the duffle bag with shaking hands, and swallowed to pills before he had time to think otherwise.

It wasn't until he'd begun to feel dethatched, sitting against the concrete wall with his sweatshirt completely soaked through, that he realized how close to April's he was. He hadn't even been thinking about where he was going after he raided that pharmacy. Now it was all he could see. Two blocks north and he was there. Maybe it was a sign. He'd have to check on them sooner or later, whether he liked it or not.

So he scraped himself off the filthy pavement and started trotting off in that familiar direction as the rain finally decided to ease off for a change. He was still dripping wet and chilled to the bone, but he had a mission objective now, and a little damp cold wasn't going to stop him.

He'd been traveling by rooftop for the last half of the distance, and by the time he reached the roof of the building next door, he'd already changed his mind about this being a good idea. _What if Raph and Casey were up on the roof again? Oh god… what if Mikey found me? He'd tell everyone and I'd be toast!_

He almost turned back. In fact, he'd already positioned himself a good one hundred and eighty degrees in the opposite direction of April's apartment but froze almost immediately at the sound of someone sobbing in the alleyway. That did absolutely nothing to ease the incessant guilt trip he'd been giving himself lately. So he just stood there, soaked to the bone on that rooftop, with the bottom of his stomach dropping out. Part of that was probably the fact that he hadn't eaten in a while, and the pills always made him a little queasy anyway, but most of it was certainly due to the fact that he knew who those sobs belonged to with the very marrow of his bones. It was April.

He couldn't help burying his face in his hands, cursing only himself for his complete selfishness. "Shit," he breathed, swallowing back that nauseous feeling again. Her sobs were quieting into little heart-wrenching choking sounds by the time he lost his resolve, still not daring to step out of the shadows of the rooftop.

"April!" He whispered down into the dark below. His voice sounded so rough it was surprising, but three weeks of near silence can do that to a person.

Almost immediately, the sobs stopped.

"Donny?"

He let it hang there for a while, guilt and embarrassment tying his throat into a hard knot. He didn't respond until she called his name again. "Yeah. It's me."

"Oh my god, Donny! We were so worried about you, and…" He could tell she'd started crying again, one little strangled sob breaking through the relative silence. "We were looking all over for you… oh god, I was starting to think you were dead."

If possible, Don felt even worse about his decision. Every word that came out of her mouth was like adding another ten pounds of weight on his shoulders. But he couldn't let that sway him. He had plenty of good reasons to do what he's doing. He had to rebuild some way, and to cut all ties from those he was hurting was the best way to do it. He just couldn't let his own misfortunes stand in their way anymore. But how could he tell April that? Every inch of him was aching to hop down into that alleyway and pull her into a hug.

The thought only sickened him more.

"I'm sorry," was really all he could come up with for the moment. "I'm doing fine, I'm all right. Please… April, don't cry…"

She'd started sobbing again, albeit a little softer than before, but the sound was carrying up to him nonetheless, and it was heart breaking. "Donny, I'm just so relieved," she breathed, almost laughing at her own antics through the tears. She scrubbed furiously at them with the back of her hand before continuing. "You must be freezing. One second. I'll let you in through the kitchen window."

"No!" The word rushed out of him much harsher than he'd intended, and she froze, squinting up to the roof with a look of confusion. "I can't… not yet."

"W-what do you mean?"

He hesitated, trying to ignore that painful hitch in her voice. "I just can't. Not until I get some things sorted out."

"Donny," she breathed, scuffing her sneakers absentmindedly across the pavement. "If… if this's about that night…" Her voice wavered, and it took all of her self-control not to run into the house and call the others, have them _make _Donny come back home. But she couldn't. If he managed to get away from then, he'd never come back. Not if he couldn't trust her.

Now that was enough to almost knock him off his feet. He tried hard to swallow again, though it was harder than before. "I'm sorry," he repeated. He just couldn't say it enough. "I'm so sorry."

"He says he's sorry too."

"Who?"

A pause, he could hear her sneakers scuffing the concrete, probably trying to get a better look at him. "Raph."

_Damn it, _he cursed inwardly. She was obviously willing to play every card in her hand. "He… he did?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "He's been pretty low since you left."

"Drinking?"

"Yeah. We just can't snap him out of it. Mikey really misses you too." She paused, trying her best to swallow back tears. "We all just want you home, Donny."

He took a step backwards. This was just getting way too hard. The sadness in her voice, Raph's apology, his brothers suffering at his expense. But then again, how much has really changed? It was all the same before he left, wasn't it? Even if he did come home, it wouldn't change anything.

"April, I told you I can't. _Please, _just listen to me."

Panic was rising in April's throat at the sound of Don's voice growing more distant. He was walking away. She wasn't getting through to him! "Donny, don't go!" She pleaded, heart pounding in her ears in the horrifying silence that followed. "Donny!"

Finally she caught a glimpse of his shadow peering over the side of the building, a wave of relief making her let go of a breath she wasn't aware she was holding.

"Shh!" He hissed nervously, eyes darting to the other rooftop, searching for any sign of movement. "Please, don't let them hear you. They can't know I was here."

"Oh, Donny, how could I _not _tell them? They're worried sick about you!"

"_Please_," he begged, "promise me you won't tell them."

April swallowed hard, hot tears streaming down her cheeks in the cold night air. She weighed her options. Tell them, and lift an enormous weight off of Raph and Mikey's shoulders, but risk never seeing Don again for god knows when. Or, she could make this promise and at least chance the opportunity to secretly keep in touch with him.

As much as it pained her to do so, she agreed upon the latter. "I promise."

Don breathed a heavy sigh of relief and rested tiredly against the concrete ledge. "Thank you," he breathed, "it means a lot."

There was an uncomfortable silence that followed, and Don was torn between taking it as his cue to leave or letting the moment linger for a few more minutes. But the second a light flicked on in the upstairs bathroom, he knew it was time to go.

But he didn't want to. He really, really didn't want to.

At least, for now, he had April.

Stepping back into the shadows, quickly he whispered, "Meet me at the park tomorrow night at midnight. Kerry Lake. I'll be there, I promise, but only if you come alone."

"O-okay, okay… I promise. I'll come alone."

There was no answer, only silence and that damp, hungry cold. She pulled her jacket closer and shivered, sitting back down on the crumbling stoop. Long after he'd disappeared, she just couldn't take her eyes off that rooftop, madly scrubbing away every tear that fell.

Tomorrow, maybe she could talk some sense into him.

* * *

_A/N: A somewhat short and sweet chapter I typed up for you guys today (Yay, school is over!). So I've been barely getting any reviews lately, so I'm going to assume that either no one reads me anymore, or leaving reviews has gone out of style. I hate to sound pathetic because yes, reviews aren't the only reason I write. Mostly I'd like to better my writing skill. But how can I do that if I don't get feedback? :( _

_Yes, begging for reviews is unnecessary and pathetic, but… readers, oh readers? Are you out there?_

_Tell me you loved it, tell me my writing sucks balls, tell me my characterization is off or you don't like how I phrased something. Concrit is like the air I breathe. So… pwease?_


	12. Chapter 12: The Cold Night

_A/N: You can blame the song "The Shade of Poison Trees" by Dashboard Confessional for the sudden inspiration and seven hour writing marathon that resulted in this update. *Dies and is dead.*_

* * *

Chapter 12: The Cold Night

When she emerged back into the apartment, she was shaken. She's spent a good hour sitting there in the dark alley, waiting for him to reappear, waiting for him to change his mind, to take it all back and come home. Come back to them. They needed him more then he could ever know.

Mike was at her side in a flash. Always the intuitive one. He'd dragged her into the kitchen and made her a hot cup of tea. But she was dazed, fighting back the tears that threatened by staring down the dirty table top. The cup of tea was placed in front of her, and she couldn't even remember asking for it.

Mike had grown a lot of patience since the broad-smiling boy she once remembered. She couldn't count the days she'd thought they were dead. Three years. She kept telling herself she should be grateful she still had them, the survivors of this endless blur of blood and tragedy she called a life. But still she couldn't fight the feeling that they had been given back to her only to be stripped away again one by one.

They were losing Don. She had _known _they were losing him and she didn't do a thing to stop it. She only enabled him, babied him, let him fall deeper into that hole he insisted on digging himself.

But that wasn't true. She knew that wasn't true. She'd done everything she could for him and more. They all had. It's just hard to save someone who doesn't want saving. She was only human, after all.

He was sitting in front of her, solemn-faced, hands folded on the table, waiting. She had to trace her eyes over his expression ten times at least, because it still seemed so foreign. He didn't say a word.

She took the tea in her hands, trying to swallow around the tight lump in her throat. The television was on in the other room again, and the sound of Raph and Casey's voices was somewhat comforting. Their patrol around the city had left them all tired and breathless, but it at least gave some distraction to idle minds, however fruitless it may be.

April's chest ached with a heat that wasn't from the tea, and she swallowed uncomfortably. She caught Mike's gaze wandering into the other room. "I think Case managed to talk some sense into him," he said distantly. When he turned back to face her, he was still so solemn.

She nodded, glad for the distraction. "That's good."

"We'll find him, you know."

And there it was, the crack that broke the dam. April bit down on her lip hard to keep herself from falling into hysterics, pushing her chair away and leaving the rest of her tea abandoned. "I'm going to take a shower."

There was a waver in her voice she could not hide, but Mike said nothing, only watched her leave.

* * *

It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be this hard to put things back in their place again. But the last year and a half of Don's relatively short life had somehow plummeted headlong into a perfect demonstration of the Chaos Theory. Chaos is the natural state of being, it states. All order will turn to chaos within time. The universe favors it, in fact. Within every chemical reaction, every burst of a super nova, every collision of particulate matter, all existence is pushing closer toward disorder, baby-steps toward oblivion.

Piecing it all together was like swimming upstream with the entire universe rooting against you.

But he was doing it none the less. He had to make up for so much wasted time, so many hours spent contemplating just how much his life sucked to epic proportions, never making even the slightest effort to improve it. Well, he was improving it now.

Cleaning had been the most daunting task. Layers of silt and spiders' webs had long consumed this little corner of the sewers. But a few lucky finds during a late night scavenging run provided him with a broom and bucket, along with other cleaning materials. Soon the small cavern was swept and the walls were scrubbed clean. The electricity was set, the plumbing was finished, and in only two weeks time, it could almost be considered livable.

The place was small, though. Just four rooms, one of which had been designated the "kitchen" save for a lack of appliances. The main chamber he had taken as his own was filled with only a crooked-legged table propped up with a wilted phonebook, and a water-stained mattress that smelled like mildew and sewer water. But it was a start. Undeniably a start.

The day after his encounter with April was spent mostly staring up at the bare ceiling, the harsh naked bulb in the center staring back like an unblinking eye. He could turn it off. He could let himself sleep after the restless night he'd had. He's told himself this several times by now. Still, he never made a move to cross the room and flip off the light. He never closes his eyes to sleep.

There's pill bottles on that crooked table. Some empty, some full, his frayed duffle bag collapsed on the floor like a bloodless corpse. The bottles stand in a row, in a line like soldiers, blank, faceless, awaiting their orders.

"_Fuck off,_" he wants to say, but can't find the voice to do it. The anger's there, but the logic is not. He knows he's more angry at himself, anyways. It's that, not the light, not the motivation, that brings him up off the mattress, crossing into the dark 'kitchen' and flicking on the light. He doesn't dare look at the bottles again.

There's a spider on the wall the size of his fist, and he absent-mindedly snatches yesterday's newspaper off the rickety table and smears it into a patch of gore and twitching legs. Just a flick and the lights go out. Simple as that.

But there's something far more interesting about this new "Lair" than the constant battle against invading spiders. Tossing the soiled newspaper in the trashcan nearby, he snatches the home-made voltmeter and ventures out into the mouth of the sewers.

* * *

Monday morning meant Second Time Around opened at eight AM sharp. It meant nine straight hours of dusting bone china stacked upon shelves, rearranging leather-bound books, and repricing that cracked statue of some nameless half-naked woman _yet again _until it finally sold. It meant a slow trickle of oddly dressed strangers coming through the door, the tinkling of brass bells on the doorframe snapping her attention out of the book she'd been reading, only to watch them browse, then turn and leave without ever buying a thing.

All of that translated to one thing: April was bored out of her mind. She thought the store would be a good distraction today, waiting for the hours to pass until midnight came and she could breathe again. By the time the ancient cuckoo clock on the far wall struck two PM, it took all she had to stifle that involuntary groan. The waiting was making her utterly anxious. She'd already bitten every one of her fingernails to the quick, a habit she had thought she'd finally kicked until today, and the novel she'd been reading had been tossed aside hours ago.

So far the highlight of the day had been the frazzled old woman who insisted paying twenty dollars for a fifty dollar painting. They'd argued for what seemed like hours, the tension in April's mind becoming palpable in her voice as the woman kept arguing beyond all reason. When April had stayed firm, the woman had left in a huff, proclaiming she'd tell all her friends not to shop there. Judging by the woman's clothes, not to mention her rows of rotted teeth like roofing shingles, she was probably homeless. April decided she had nothing to be worried about.

When three o'clock ticked by, she had just started thinking about closing early when the door opened again. This time, a tall black man in a long grey coat and matching hat ducked in, nodding her a silent greeting when she welcomed him. He'd disappeared almost instantly behind a shelf of books, but by that time, April was too wrapped up in the dialogue she was planning for Don. Somehow she had to convince him to come home. She was almost certain she would do whatever it takes.

She'd almost jumped out of her chair when the old leather-bound book was plopped on the counter in front of her.

"A beautiful edition." Was all he said in a softly accented baritone, a dark hand running over the black leather binding, then moving to trace the gold-leafed title of Frankenstein.

April stared at the book for a moment, slightly taken aback. She'd had it since before she could remember. It was probably one of the most valuable pieces in her collection, and it had only grown in value as it sat on the shelves collecting dust, though the sticker price had never changed.

"It's… two hundred and thirty dollars," she announced, trying not to sound as giddy as she felt. But when her eyes traveled up to the man's face, she had to stifle a yelp of surprise. This man, his grim face shadowed by the brim of his hat, stared solemnly back at her, expressionless. He extended his hand to give her the bills, and she took them shakily.

It was the man from the Freeman house, the butler. She couldn't remember his name, but his presence was somehow unsettling.

"Well worth the price," he said quietly, scooping the book into his arms and hurriedly leaving through the door, the soft chime of brass bells marking his departure.

April's face paled as she watched him disappear into the street, still clutching the fold of bills dumbly. It took her a second to realize they were making her palms sweat. As she unfolded them, her hopes of him not short-changing her were forgotten.

A white slip of paper made her stomach sink painfully. It was a note, hand-written in a steady scrawl. '_Your friends are in danger. Leave the city immediately.'_

* * *

That night, it finally decided it would snow. The flakes that fell were fat and wet, the kind that dusted your hair and caught in your eyelashes. It had just started coating the street in a slushy film of white when April slipped out of her building, hopefully unnoticed.

The walk to the park was long, but manageable. Her knee-length overcoat was warm, at least. As she walked beneath the streetlamps, she could see her breath catching in the air like the fleeting smoke of factory towers. At least it was somewhat warm for the time of year, which made the walk a little more enjoyable.

She knew exactly where she would find them. They'd been to the spot a handful of times before. Kerry Lake, more like a pond than an actual lake, was one of the most isolated spots in the park. It was also where Raph and Casey had buried Splinter's battle-torn body not too long ago.

It had to be almost a year now. The snow. She could remember the snow.

She settled herself down onto a park bench by the water's edge. It was almost painful thinking about how cold that black water must be this time of year. She had to bite back an involuntary shiver.

But then her mind trailed back to the note again. She hadn't had a chance to tell Casey or Raph yet, but she had shown it to Mikey, who only met her with that same misty-eyed expression he'd been giving her lately. He'd looked up at her then, that little note crumpled in his hands and asked her "_What should we do?"_

She couldn't give him an answer.

She almost laughed then, cold and humorless. He'd actually asked _her _what they should do. What could she say? She didn't even know what to do when she got out of bed in the morning, never less giving Mikey orders based on some creepy note from an equally shady guy.

She buried her face in her hands and let out an exasperated sigh.

"Are you okay?"

She jumped, head snapping upward to see a shadow that was undeniably cast by Don. He was dressed in Casey's old grey sweatshirt and a pair of baggy khakis. She couldn't suppress a relieved smile as she flew to her feet and wrapped him in a hug. "Oh, Donny. I think I'm going to have a heart attack if people keep sneaking up on me like this."

He went rigid and silent under her embrace, which left her apologizing and scrubbing her face free from the threat of tears. "I've been worrying about you all day," she breathed, giddy in her relief.

Then, something amazing happened. Don smiled. It was sad and timid, but a smile none the less. He rested a hand on her shoulder and said "I told you I was okay."

April really did laugh at that. She hadn't been this happy in a while. It was like finally, for the first time in years, she was looking at Donatello again. _Her _Donatello. "Thank God."

"Are you cold?" He asked, head cocked to the side now. He didn't wait for an answer. "Come on, let's get you someplace out of the weather. You walked all this way."

Wrapping a hand around her forearm, he guided her a little ways down the path. Then, he bent and lifted the manhole cover in the center of a wintered patch of grass. There was a devious light in his eyes that she hadn't seen in a long, long time. "What are you up to?" She teased as he ushered her down the ladder. It sparked an embarrassed grin. A beautiful, embarrassed grin.

He really _was _okay.

"I have something to show you," he said excitedly. Together, they plunged into the darkness. "Actually, a few things."

April couldn't fight back a grin of her own when Donny fished out a small flashlight and a voltmeter from his sweatshirt pocket. He handed her the flashlight as an afterthought and started fussing with the meter. "I was messing with the electrical down here and I discovered something strange," he said absently as they walked. "I kept getting interference from another source that caused surges through the main power supply."

"Why were you fussing with the electrical down here?"

Another sideways smile. "You'll see. That's my other thing to show you. But first…" He paused, placing the copper needle against the slick brick wall. "This."

He tilted the voltmeter towards her, its screen giving off a reading of a low voltage of electricity.

"Right now the voltage is somewhat below a double A battery, but it gets stronger the further you travel toward the lake. Unfortunately the lake itself serves as a barrier."

"What do you think it is?"

"Personally," he smiled proudly. "I think it's remnants of the rift we tore when we time-jumped. I would love to study it further."

"If it was…" April mused, suddenly excited herself, "you'd have an energy source that's completely perpetual… Probably the most clean and efficient source of energy in existence!"

Don's eyes lit up. "I know! But do you know what's even better?"

"What?"

He hesitated for a moment, giving her a sheepish grin. "I think it might be dilithium."

"You're kidding me. Like the power core in Star Trek?" She just _had _to laugh at him for that one. Leave it to Donny to cook something like this up.

"I'm entirely serious!" He squeaked, wincing at the crack in his voice. "We used lithium as the primary energy source to open the time window. Chances are that the rip in the time/space continuum provided enough energy to synthesize it."

"Your time portal ran on batteries?" She laughed, shaking her head in awe. "That's crazy. But knowing you, you're probably right." He ducked his head to hide his proud embarrassment, and she took the chance to lay a hand on his shoulder. "It's good to have you back, Donny."

He didn't respond to her last comment, but changed the subject instead. "I have another thing to show you still. Come on."

It was a short walk from where Don had showed her the energy readings before he stopped at a small metal door. A maintenance chamber, as the badly rusted sign above the door boasted, along with some missing letters.

It took a while for Don to yank open the door, which was just as badly rusted on its hinges as the sign, but with some fight, it wrenched open with a groan. "April O'Neil," he said, pushing back the thick blanket that covered a gap in the sewer wall, "welcome to the Lair, my _very _humble abode."

"So this's what you've been up to," April said, visibly impressed despite the apparent shabbiness of the room.

"Aside for my quest for fictional energy sources, that's about it. Right now I have the plumbing and electricity hooked, but the fixtures are yet to come. Furniture too…" He quickly crossed the room, motioning to the wilted mattress now adorned with thick wool blankets neatly spread over top.

She took his offer without hesitation, sitting herself down. "Don, if you need anything, I can—"

"No… nope," he interrupted. "You've done more than enough for me. This is a little pet project of mine I'm determined to conquer myself. Thank you though."

"You know I'd do anything for you, Donny."

That startled him a bit. He froze in the doorway to the kitchen for a second, returning her soft smile. Of course she would, it was April. It was just the way she said it…

But he brushed it from his mind and turned back into the kitchen. "I want to show you the schematics for that energy source. They're all hypothetical for now but if I can find a way to get closer in, I'd have more data to base it off."

As he babbled to her from the other room, April took in the dingy space and tried not to let his new living conditions appall her. He'd lived in worse before, she reminded herself. That is, until she caught sight of the crumpled duffle bag on the floor. Its zipper was pulled only half shut, revealing a hint of a collection of pill bottles. She tried not to let her breath catch in her throat, and smiled warmly instead when he reemerged from the dim-lit kitchen shuffling a stack of shabby papers before plopping beside her on the mattress.

He handed the stack of papers to her, and she rifled through them without much attention. Her pulse was pounding too loudly in her ears to concentrate. Her palms were sweating around the stack of papers in her hands, her breath coming quick in her throat.

_Do it. Just do it, _her mind urged, screamed within her, and she obeyed.

Tossing the papers into his lap, she pulled him to her before he could object and kissed him like she was drowning.

Don flew to his feet immediately, pushing her away and scattering papers everywhere. "Jeez, April! How pathetic do you think I am!?"

April's face had turned ten shades of red "I… I thought…"

Silence hung between them in the worst way possible, the tension so thick you could feel it buzzing in the air.

As Don's initial excitement wore off, his expression became almost unreadable. "Listen," he said defeatedly. "I had a crush on you for a long, long time. But that was all it was, some fantastical school-boy crush. What I did to you that night was unfair. I wasn't thinking clearly. It's something I'm embarrassed of and am trying my best to forget for the moment. I _know _you love Casey. You married him for Pete's sake. It was sick and foolish of me to ever think I could come between that. I could never give you what you deserve. You've seen my life. You know it would only put you in danger. You deserve Casey. You deserve to be with your own kind. Don't try to change my mind just because you want me to come back."

That last sentence was bitter. He _meant _it to be scathing, and it hit its mark dead center.

"I'm sorry!" She sobbed into her hands. "Donny, I'm just so worried about you. We all are. I told you I'd do anything. I'll do anything you want! That letter…"

"What letter?"

"T-there was a man at the store today," she choked. "I recognized him from the Freeman house… the butler…" His name suddenly came to her. "Matthias. He bought a book and slipped me this note. It said '_Your friends are in danger.'_"Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, quickly losing the battle to hold back her tears._ "_They _know _about you, Don! They know about Mike and Raph and my connection to you! It said to leave the city immediately… oh god."

"I can't go home," he said grimly, almost completely unsympathetic. "I told you that already. Not now. Not yet. I've made up my mind and I can handle myself." He folded his arms over his plastron stubbornly, trying his best to detach. But his heart ached so badly he had to stifle a wince as it threatened to rip his chest in two. He wouldn't look at her. He couldn't look at her. All that pain, all that sorrow. It was exactly what he was trying to avoid by doing this. He was trying to piece things together, not make them fall apart again.

This meeting was meant to convince April he was okay, to prove to her that he was cleaning up his act. None of this was part of the plan. Apparently this kind of logic doesn't account for emotion, which only left Don mentally kicking himself in the head with every sob April choked upon. Chaos at its best.

"I think you should go."

The words were emotionless, yet perfectly logical. He needed space. He needed more time. All she was doing here was clouding his mind with a flood of emotion. He'd have to apologize to her later, but for now, he only needed her gone.

"I don't know the way," she said thickly, sniffling.

"Then I'll show you out."

No one uttered a word as he held back the blanket door for her. April was hot-faced and dazed making the trek back through the icy sewer water. She wanted to say something, _anything _to change his mind, to make it better, but she couldn't. She kept choking on her own tongue.

As they climbed the cold ladder in silence, the icy rungs bit into her fingers. The cold wind felt so much more bitter as he helped her out of the manhole. Still, he said nothing as she started down the path. Only stared, unmoving as a statue.

"_I'm sorry,"_ he wanted to say, but he bit his lip. He wanted to run to her, hold her in his arms, tell her not to cry, not to worry, but his feet were cemented to the ground. He wanted to follow her home, see his brothers' faces, hear their voices again, feel the familiar warmth of April's apartment, that homey smell that he could never quite put his finger on—like perfume and the must of antiques, ivory soap and homemade pizza.

As she disappeared down the trail, he balled his hands into fists, an unfamiliar anger welling up like bubbles in a thick stew. He'd finally done it. He'd finally fucking done it. He'd detached himself from everything, just like he'd planned. But what did it get him? Nowhere. It got him more tears, more heartache, more worry than ever before. He might as well have been bedridden again, fearing for his life, because at least that was a tangible pain, a pain he could fix with those fucking pills instead of just drown it in them.

He was furious. _Furious_ for all the stupid shit he had done. What did his family do to deserve this? What did she do to deserve this? Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing.

He stalked to the water's edge, heart pounding madly in his head, stooped and picked up a rock on the trail, chucking it into the water. He wanted to disturb it. He wanted to mess up that calm. Nothing should be calm anymore. Nothing. "God dammit!" He howled at the ripples of black water. He watched them move across the surface like waves in a pool of ink, catching the moonlight on the crests. He panted madly, breath visible, but slowly slowing. Shakily, he ran a hand over his face and whispered a curse. "Christ. Fucking Christ."

He pulled his hand away when movement rustled the bushes behind him. His face was finally wet with tears he should have shed when April was still there to see them, to prove he isn't the heartless bastard he'd just convinced himself to be. "April?" He called out miserably, wincing at his poor judgment call after what April had told him about the warning she had received.

_Your friends are in trouble._

He backed slowly towards the open manhole, the taste of panic running hot down his throat. "Shit," he breathed. More rustling, this time accompanied by an alien clicking that made his blood run cold within his veins. He struck a defensive pose as the sound grew nearer.

He had a feeling what lurked beyond those bushes, and running home surely wouldn't save him now.

There was a flash of motion, a snarl unlike any other. A tangle of limbs and teeth erupted from the brush and struck him with the force of a semi-truck. He reeled backwards, its claws digging into his shoulders, vision skipping as his shell collided with the ground.

His instincts were quick, bucking under the creature's grip and snapping up to plant a kick in its ribcage. He felt the bone give, heard its breath leave its throat in a painful wheeze as it flew backwards, landing in a heap on the ground.

Donatello leaped to his feet. His hand traveled to the cuts on his shoulder, his fingers finding the sickly warmth of his own blood trickling onto his plastron. His pulse was raging madly in his ears as he stumbled to the monster's crumpled form, panting in the cold air. It lay heaving and gasping for breath in the moonlight, clawed hands grappling with the frozen ground, gurgling on blood-tinged foam staining the newly fallen snow.

It was just how his brothers had described it—pale as a corpse and completely naked in the cold, scales protruding from its exposed flesh like plague sores. The jaws, now dripping with blood and saliva, exposed rows of gapped, jagged teeth. But there was one difference: its eyes were nothing like human. Instead, it watched him approach behind eerie golden orbs, glassy with pain from the punctured lung, pupils constricted into reptilian slits.

This was nothing like the Outbreak Virus. This was genetic manipulation brought to an entirely different level.

The thing snarled at him behind blood-stained teeth as he took a step closer, examining the scales like puncture wounds buried in the flesh. Crocodilian. Undeniably crocodilian. It wheezed and gurgled with every rise and fall of its chest, but still it watched him with those huge feral eyes.

It shifted on the ground, pressing its face to the frozen earth, and then slowly lifted itself into a crouch. Its head hung, hair clinging to its scalp in a grotesque matted tangle, pink-stained foam dripping from its jaws.

A bolt of cold strikes Donatello from all sides when the thing lifts his head. Its eyes connect with his, blazing with a fire so primal it reaches down his throat and sets his lungs alight. Another step backwards as the creature rocks back onto its knees, its naked body pallid in the moonlight, and shrieks like a banshee proclaiming the tides of death.

It has seen death, so much death, pain, hunger. Hunger, always hunger. The turtle-man radiates it—fear, hunger, death. It's marked for the Hunters' prey. Alive or dead. Alive or dead.

It lowers its head, the smell of prey's blood, prey's panic hangs heavy in the air. She can hear him breathing, hear the heart beating in his chest. Her brain aches for his arterial blood. Her throat is parched and cracked. Hungry, so hungry. It erases all the pain.

She lunges for prey, her claws finding blood, sweet iron, warmth in the cold night. He is quick but she is quicker. He runs, but she finds him. He smells of panic. He smells of the mark of death.

Bushes, trees, she scales them all, parts them like a sea that bends to her will, leaps and sinks her teeth into the back of his neck. The taste of his blood mingles with her own. He screams. He is strong. He throws her hard into a tree. Her skull connects, her backbone cracks, but she chases. Always chases.

She is too hungry to die, too blind. The pain escapes her. Nothing. She scales a tree wearing her own blood, sits upon a branch and listens for the sound of his heartbeat. He comes, just as instinct whispered, the device embedded in her brain. It knows. It knows. Pounce, leap, teeth, claws. He is breathless beneath her, crying out. His strength fails him. His strikes are growing weaker. The device whispers to unclench her hold on his throat. His eyes are wide and dull. She hungers to tear them from his face and devour them like grapes. Her brain whispers no. Take him. He is sleeping. Take him to the lake to see your master. He will be pleased. Maybe then he will end your misery.


	13. Chapter 13: The Price of Weakness

_A/N: Well, we're finally reaching the story's climax. Took me long enough! As for those of you have been wondering, I have been playing with the tenses of these last couple chapters. Mostly it signifies the concept of time bleeding together as the continuum shatters even deeper. I hope this won't confuse anyone too much, because the next few chapters are going to be pretty nuts. _

_Thanks for reading and enjoy!_

_

* * *

_

Chapter 13: The Price of Weakness

Terror. The new-fallen snow had smothered the world in silence. Only his breathing broke through, cutting with glass-edged knives. But the cold ran hot and the quiet was deafening. He knew it was in the trees.

He ran with fate chasing behind him, and he knew it was hopeless. He heard his brothers' stories. He's seen what these monsters could do. Running wouldn't get him out of this alive.

Unfortunately, Don was running out of options.

He burst through a tangle of bushes and stumbled into a clearing, his pulse thundering in his ears. Through it, he heard a branch crack, the shuddering of half-dead leaves. He saw the shadow in the trees, and as it raced toward him in the snow, he turned to face it.

There was no running now.

And like before, it collided with all its body weight and momentum, gnashing teeth and slashing claws. It was too strong, too wild. He couldn't predict her movement. She attacked from all angles like a feral cat, blind with rage and the predatory instinct that numbed her pain.

His lungs were on fire and blood trickled down the ridges of his shell like canals. She lunged for him again and he blocked, but teetered backward with the weight. His vision skipped as he hit the frozen ground. The last thing he knew, he was staring into the eyes of Death.

It has no face, but he knows it well.

* * *

At first, he thought it was snow. Things moved like ghosts beneath the whiteness, back and forth like swaying trees. But when it cleared, he found himself sitting alone in the middle of a field. Night had broken into a gray excuse for morning, but the sky was blank and sunless. She is gone, the snow is gone, and everything around him has been drained of its color. He knows for certain he isn't in the park. Something tells him to stand and he starts jogging up the grassy hill to where the trees grow tall and ancient.

There, he sees Death waiting.

He's seen this type of darkness, and he's seen this place before—its muddied air, the gray grass that brushes against his knees, confusion and relief in a single breath. Time is eternal. There is no beginning. There is no end. It never knows the lines between the past and present, or the future that will come. The last time he'd seen it, he'd learned that time is insignificant, and he'd learned how helpless he was to stop it.

People go about their lives like stones cast in a pond. Their decisions are like ripples, colliding into one another, bringing the world one step closer to chaos.

And there were other worlds where he didn't make the same decisions. There were other worlds, divided from his own behind a membrane of silk, where a single step in another direction had changed the course of the universe. He could feel them all now, colliding like atoms.

In this land between lands of neither death nor living, he could feel the other worlds moving on without him. He could feel the other lives leeching away his strength. When he reaches the top of the hill, there's a weakness settled in the marrow of his bones. It's familiar and exhausting. It makes him wonder if, since the War of the Shadows, he'd been living here all along.

And there are worlds where he has died. He feels them lean upon him with one thousand heavy hands. He feels too heavy to stand.

Still Death watches without his face, black like a pillar beneath a cloak of shadow. There are ravens in the trees. They watch with hunger in their eyes, but stay silent. Don takes a step and his knees give out. His legs are numb, and he cries out in terror.

The ravens stir with dusty feathers. The branches shudder with spreading wings. They take to the sky and disappear behind the horizon. All he knows is fear.

Time is eternal. There is no beginning or end. He's been here before, and he'll be here again, entwined in the same skin he's always been. He crawls toward the darkness, toward the trees. He sees his Death. It has no face.

But he doesn't remember the road. As he crawls, gravel bites into his elbows, clogs his nostrils and settles in his throat. Something cracks like a branch and he howls in pain. The snapping spreads outward from the center, crackles with spider web veins. It feels like someone's taken a sledgehammer to his shell, and all his healing is for nothing. Blood seeps into the colorless grass as the cracks spread open like broken bone.

The plates shift and settle. His vision blurs. He's coated in blood and dust, lying paralyzed and helpless at the edge of the road. Despite the pain, he lifts his head and sees Death waiting by the trees.

He's seen this place before. He knows it well. Death will watch unmoving because it's not his place to judge. He'll wait to gather the soul that was always destined to be his. It's only a matter of time, and Death is a patient thing.

Don knows his death, but this time, he is wrong.

The figure moves like a shadow across the hill and stops nearby, at the edge of the road. Don buries his face in the dirt, digs his hands into fistfuls of grass. With Death looming over him, writhing in remembered pain, he sobs for mercy, freedom, forgiveness. He's already dead. Take him. He has no strength. Since the war, he's been nothing but dead.

There's a touch on his shoulder, and its warmth is surprising. The pain snaps out of him with a breath.

"Donny, get up."

His hands were shaking, but the bleeding stopped. The pain stopped. The chaos stopped. His fists uncoiled, and his vision cleared. Don kneeled in the soft grass and stood without pain.

He lifted his gaze to see his Death, and met his brother's eyes.

"_Leo?_"

He flung himself into the road, and they held each other until everything came flooding back. He let his brother tighten the embrace, and never flinched. The shadows were gone. The weight had been lifted.

"Oh my god…"

When they parted, there were tears in his eyes, completely different from before.

But Leo never smiled. There was pain in his expression. "Is that how you feel?" His gaze shifted to the bloodstain in the grass. "Is that how you see yourself?"

"Leo… you've been dead for _two years_."

It wasn't an answer. It wasn't an excuse. But it had to be enough. For now, it was enough.

Leo's hand hadn't moved from Don's shoulder, and his face was close. Don recoiled under the ferocity of his brother's stare. "This isn't what I wanted for you. This isn't what…"

He lost his words, but his eyes were full of fire. Don trembled, unable to fill the silence.

"You understand I'm not your brother, right? Not the one you know, at least. But knowing you, you've probably got this whole thing figured out by now."

His words sunk like a rock, and Don took a step backward, away from the touch. "I have my theories," he said uneasily, glancing around the colorless world—the road, the grass, the hills, the ancient trees twisting up to a blank-slate sky. "It's a limbo—like a combining of parallel universes where the worlds connect before..." He pointed to the trees beyond the road. "Before going to the afterlife."

"It's a crossroads. You're right about the other worlds, and you're right about collecting souls. But this is far from the end, Donny. You're not dead yet."

Don said nothing. A cold breeze stirred the dust around their ankles and toyed with the cloak of Death, no longer without a face.

Leo broke the gaze with defeat heavy on his shoulders. He stared off into the forest, and the wind continued to blow. "I made this place, a long time ago. It was something Master Splinter and I were working on when he started feeling Death hanging over us. That's from a time you know, right Donny?"

"I… yes. Before the war. I remember that."

"He was afraid we would lose each other. There was no way of knowing what could happen. But Sensei knew enough about the planes. When I passed, I found it and promised I'd wait. I'd look over you, and be here when you passed."

Don wasn't sure if Leo was speaking to him, or the forest. He'd become entranced with it. But Don was too dumbstruck to take his eyes away. Whether he was actually his brother or not, this Leo knew him. This Leo was in part the brother that died in on a planet called Atun during a life that no longer seemed to be his.

He ran his hands over the rough edges of his scars, and wondered if they'd follow him even after he was gone.

When Leo turned, there was determination in his eyes, but his face was still pained. "You know I always planned to be the first. But I didn't want this for you. I knew it would be hard, but I never, ever wanted _this._"

"But you didn't have a choice." The words didn't even sound like his own, but they were enough.

Miraculously, Leo smiled. "You're right. I didn't have a choice, but you do. Our brothers need you, Donny. They need your strength. I can see both decisions branching like tree roots, and even if I can't show you, I hope you can understand they can never live without you."

Don dropped his gaze. He couldn't look at him anymore. "I have to tell you I'm unconvinced," he mumbled. "I've been more of a burden to them than anything. I don't see how this is any different. If I'm gone, they would at least be able to move on without me weighing them down."

He felt his brother's hand on his shoulder again, and it forced him to look up.

"Donny, what you've lived through would remind anyone of their mortality. But just think about it. There must be a reason you survived. You're destined to do great things, little brother. If you choose to walk across this road, our brothers wouldn't be the only ones that would suffer. You're not as insignificant as you think."

"Then what about you? Weren't you destined for great things?"

Leo gave Don's shoulder a playful squeeze, letting out a breath that sounded a bit too much like a laugh. "You think you've changed so much, but it's amazing how little you have." He shook his head. "When I died, I gave my life to save my brothers and billions of people in turn. Despite the pain I caused, it was worth it in the end. I've seen worlds where it turned out differently, and I know I made the right decision. Like you said, I didn't have a choice."

"Then what happens? What happens to them if I choose to go?"

Don's questions were getting desperate. Leo had never planned to tell him this much, but then again, Don always had been stubborn. It was necessary. He hesitated for a beat, mouth pressed into a hard line before sighing in defeat. "I guess there's no way around it. But I can't tell you the details. All I can say is they will keep looking for you, at least until Raph gives up. Mikey won't, though. You know he won't. He'll keep searching until he's captured or worse. Raph would probably be dead by then, if he's lucky."

Don swallowed around the knot in his throat, letting each scenario play out before him until he'd had enough. It was too easy to think his death would mean nothing. It was too easy to think that whatever he decided, it wouldn't make a difference. But none of it was true. Every pebble can make a ripple, and even the smallest waves could change the course of history.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice had been stolen away.

Leo pulled him closer, gripping his brother by both shoulders now. His eyes were close. His gaze was iron. "All they'll know is fear. You can stop it. I can't promise you a happy life. I can't promise you it'll be easy or things won't get worse before they get better. But they _will_ get better. That's all that matters. Things will be better, and they won't have to deal with this alone."

Don was trembling under his brother's grip. He sucked in a breath, his eyes were red-rimmed, but the tears remained unshed. "Well, what the hell do you want me to say, Leo? Tell me! I've been nothing but a selfish _bastard _for the last two years of my life, but I can't do this."

Don pulled away, his hands wound into white-knuckled fists, mouth pressed into an angry line. Leo watched him steadily, never changing his expression. Between them, the wind lifted away a column of dust, curling upward in the cold, gray sky. Don's trembling was growing more violent, but the silence hung like new-fallen snow.

With a gasp, he fell onto his knees, letting the gravel bite them. Then he lost the last of his control, burying his face in his hands.

He broke into frustrated tears. But in a breath, found himself collapsing into his brother's fierce embrace. It was soul-draining. Two years worth of grief, anger, hate and weakness was spilling from his pores. He could run away from this. If he had the strength, he could wander into peaceful oblivion and forget the blood, forget the nightmares, forget the shame that followed in his shadow.

He'd made too many mistakes to fix. There was too much broken beyond repair. But none of it mattered now, because it was better to try and fail than to never try at all. They were his brothers. They were his family. Though they were damaged, he could never turn away from them again.

He wasn't insignificant, and to them, he was stronger than he believed.

When his heart was finally empty and his voice was hoarse, Don found his brother's solemn gaze. "What choice do I have? I'm so tired of living this way." His eye traveled to the dark woods behind him, and he knew he would be here again. Another day, maybe. Death was patient. It would always be waiting. Leo would be waiting.

He swallowed back the last of his weakness, and it poured out of him like blood on the dusty road. "Send me back. There's no other logical answer. You have to send me back!" The plea drained him of everything that remained, and a heavy exhaustion settled in his bones."_Please_," he whispered, "send me back to them. I can try again."

By his ear, he could hear Leo's weary smile, lending him strength. "Of course, outouto," he breathed. "Thank you... thank you."

A little creek had sprung from the bloodstain in the grass, spreading across the barren land and turning it into something beautiful. The road gave way to crystal water, and the tree bough shivered in relief. The shadows were lifted, and Death had found its face.

The grassy hill looked so inviting, no longer sick and gray but a soft, pleasant green. The sun broke through the gray and filtered through the tree canopy. They sank to the ground in the dappled shade of a maple tree and Don rested his head against his brother's shoulder, drunken with the thought of sleep.

"Tell Raph I said thank you for keeping his promise."

Leo's voice seemed far away. Don tried to open his eyes, but saw darkness in his place. It didn't bother him, though. It only made it easier to drift. "Mmmhmm… after a nap, maybe."

"You're not the only one to come here, you know. I was here when Sensei crossed the path. He said the forest was beautiful."

"It is," Don said lazily. "Can't you see it?"

"No. Not until I choose. But the grayness is beautiful in its own way. It's… peaceful."

"Then why don't you choose? It's so… wonderful."

There was a smile in his voice. "I'd rather wait. You know I can't rest with things left unfinished."

Don sighed, and felt himself slip farther away to oblivion. The darkness had covered everything until only his voice remained. But that was enough. "I used to be like that," he whispered to the nothing. "What happened?"

"Things change us. People change. But we'll make it better. I promised I would wait until my brothers were safe, and when I walk across that path, I want to be whole. There's only one more life tying me down, and when I die, I won't have a choice. But I plan to wait until then. You, Donny, will have to do the rest."

"I'll try. I promise I'll try."

"Go to sleep outouto. When you wake up, I hope it's in a better place."

His touch was drifting. Even the prickle of the grass he'd made his bed had disappeared. His voice was gone, and Leo's was drifting farther. For a moment he wanted to follow it, but he couldn't bring himself to. He couldn't abandon them again.

"And Donny?" His voice was barely a whisper, unraveling like a string. "When you cross the rift, please, take me with you."

* * *

Consciousness hit him like a semi-truck. And for the second time that night, Don awoke somewhere completely different from where he'd started.

For a moment, the world was coated in a blinding white. In a fleeting beat of hope, he'd almost expected to see his brother's face to be there waiting as his vision cleared. But before he even had the chance to let his eyes adjust, the scent of blood, mildew, and antiseptic tainting stagnant air sent his mind racing into a panic. Beneath him was the sensation of hard, cold metal. His stomach roiled with his racing heart as he tried to push away, only to find himself bound to the table.

Though he didn't dare to speak, a panicked gasp escaped him as the whiteness collected in the fluorescent light above him, searing into his brain. There was movement in the room, and Don was certain he was not alone.

There was something in the corner, crumpled in a heap by the floor. He craned his neck against the table, but couldn't get it in his line of vision.

When it started screeching, a surge of adrenaline charged through his body. He struggled against his binds though he knew it was useless, and snapped his eyes closed against the painful thrumming in his head.

It was there. In the middle of that sterile room, _it _was there. A rush of footsteps scurried across the floor, a flurry of lab coats as the thing writhed in its misery. Its head was cocked at a painful angle, blood-tinged saliva growing in a pool by its open mouth. Don shuddered as it crawled into his field of vision. Instead of the cold, reptilian eyes he remembered, her eyes were now a deep, swimming blue.

Those were human eyes.

"Oh god…" He shuddered. "They were right."

"Ah, the creature has awoken."

The voice struck an instant twist of hate in his stomach. Don's eyes narrowed into a glare as he met the glassy, mechanical eye of Dr. Stockman.

"_You."_

The has-been scientist pressed a needle-like finger against the glass orb encasing his brain and gasped in mock offense. "Me? Yes, of course it's me. Who else could you accredit for such unending, ground-breaking genius?"

The creature was still howling. Her hunting instinct had been killed, and the venom had drained. Her cries were soaked with mortal pain. Though Stockman seemed oblivious, Don cringed as it continued.

"_Genius." _Don's eyes flicked sharply to the dying creature. "Is that what you call it?"

Stockman would have looked meditative, if it was possible. He clicked his probe-like appendages in agitation, telescoping his single eye closer to his captive's face. Don's expression twisted in disgust.

"You know," he responded, "I was rather disappointed when I was told you had… oh, how shall I put this? _Passed on?" _ There was a devious flash behind his mechanical eye. His spider-like probes hovered dangerously over the cemented scars on Don's plastron. "But I suppose degrading forms of reincarnation are the price to pay for intelligence such as ours. Will the suffering ever end?"

"Don't you _dare _compare me to you." He nodded toward the creature, still writhing in her agony. "What did you _do_ to her?"

Stockman hadn't planned to acknowledge her this time, and started to continue his speech. But he was interrupted when the creature suddenly stopped her bestial wailing and began to croak, "Alive… or dead… turtle-man. Alive… dead… _master_…"

Stockman studied her distantly. When he turned back to Donatello, the turtle's eyes were clouded with terror. He would have smiled, if he could. "A thing of beauty, is it not—to turn my greatest folly into something so elegant, so glorious? Time and time again, you _freaks _have cost me such inconvenience, delaying my progress to bettering this sad excuse for a planet over and over again! And then I wondered… is this approach necessary? Humanity evolved into a superior species by taking advantage of their environment, and if need be, their enemies. Why must mutants, mere c_reatures _have the strength, agility, and intelligence that only these genetic anomalies can produce?"

Stockman's speech was a mere hum in the background. Don couldn't take his eyes off the creature and her pleading blue eyes. They had rolled to the back of her skull minutes ago, her wide mouth gurgling through rows of pointed, reptilian teeth. "Dead… dead…. _Please…._ Turtle-man… Master. _Kill me_."

"I had collected plenty of samples over the years from creatures such as yourself, but I needed more to make the serum, to stimulate the gene expression that could stabilize the Outbreak Virus—"

Don's attention tore away. "The Outbreak? That's insane! What are you_ thinking_?"

"Kill…"

Stockman let out a haughty laugh. "Ah, so naïve! You think I'm some kind of amateur? You underestimate my genius! I, out of all people, should know the instability of the Virus. Such power, such raw destruction in the palm of my hands!" He hesitated, looking down at his needle-like limbs, and pretended not to be fazed once again. He continued quickly. "The key is to stabilize it, and reap the benefits of the mutation. Induce a _controlled _mutation with a predictable outcome. It's brilliant!"

"And that's why you need me," Don said gravely.

"Me…"

"Oh, don't be so conceited," he chided. "I'm so close to victory I can taste it! Though I do believe you're not entirely useless. There are some small inconsistencies I have yet to polish out, and the antibodies in your blood could prove to be that final step to perfection."

"You call _this _a small inconsistency?!" Don fumed. "This's disgusting, even for you!"

Stockman's telescoping eye glanced over the glass orb of his body, still completely unaffected. "Ah, my Hunters. They are the first generation! The cornerstone to the cause! You mutants have been but a thorn in our sides for far too long! Yes, it's a shame a mind like yours has gone to waste, Donatello, for these creatures are just the beginning of your demise! Mutants of the world, bow down before your end!" He was quivering with overblown pride, needles clicking fervently. "A taste of your own medicine, a weapon built from your own genetic fodder. A thing of beauty, is it not? You can thank that hulking reptile when you see him. Leatherhead, I believe you call it? Without his tissues and alleles, not to mention his crude behavior inhibiting device, he made it _easy._"

"Kill… me…"

One of Stockman's needles extended out toward a cemented scar, the biggest, right over Don's heart. It started to screech like a dentist's drill.

"You _bastard_!" Don spat.

"Now, now," Stockman clucked, brandishing his drill, "profanity is such an insult to your intelligence, wasted or otherwise."

"_Kill me_."

"I look forward to working with you, Donatello. Now hold still, I'm interested in this material holding you together. Utrom bio-organics, I believe?"

The drill punched into the crack, and Donatello screamed. The drill squealed, plate cracked, and the air smelt of ash and bone dust. With his needled fingers, Stockman wrenched off a jagged piece of Don's chest with the nauseating sound of breaking bone. The piece was peeled from his flesh with the sound of a kiss.

"_Kill me."_

"My _god_, that is interesting."

Sweating profusely, heartbeat pounding in his throat, Donatello lifted his eyes to the reflection in Stockman's glass dome. He could see where the chunk of his plastron was missing, but instead of flesh, instead of gore, there was circuitry and the polished sheen of wires shining through the blood.

He felt no pain. He felt himself losing consciousness again.

It was all beginning to make sense. The illnesses he'd had after the operations… the fever that had almost taken his life, the exhaustion, the personality changes…

"The microchip," he whispered, "it's taking over."

He didn't know whether to be terrified or fascinated. The technology had saved his life, replaced his weakness. It had become him.

"KILL ME! KILL ME! KILL ME!"

They both startled as the laboratory door crashed open. The sound of a gunshot tore through the polished room. Stockman froze. Don unclenched his eyes and turned toward the door, the shot still ringing in his ears.

The creature's screaming cut out with a yelp, and he knew it was dead. A figure stood in the doorway, holding a smoking gun. With the other hand, he reached up to adjust his glasses. They reflected an eerie light.

"Stockman, you pathetic excuse. When were you planning to finish that abomination?"

"Agent Bishop. I…" He clacked his needles nervously. "You couldn't possibly expect me to have the ability, in the pathetic state I'm in! I should not be subjected to such degradation. It's your fault I'm unable! Besides, that was a very valuable specimen. I had just implanted the device today! Infuriating."

"_Stockman,_" he bristled. "Control yourself. And don't get in my way."

Stockman cowered as Bishop stepped into the harsh light, and scuttled like a crab away from the dissecting table. In the corner, he began fawning over his felled specimen. He was mumbling bitterly about retrieving the device, but not loud enough to provoke Bishop's wrath, only agitate it.

Don cringed as his steady footsteps came closer. When his vision cleared, Agent Bishop was looming over him, studying him with a satisfied smirk. He adjusted his glasses.

"Donatello. Welcome to Project Alpha. Though I can't guarantee you your stay will be long, I promise it will be very… useful."

* * *

_A/N: More of the others to come. I promise their situation is just as compromising..._


End file.
